


Iron Dog

by LagLemon



Series: Change [1]
Category: Captain America (2011), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Animal Transformation, Dark Humor, Depression, Developing Relationship, Dubious Consent, First Time, Homophobia, Homophobic! Steve, Internalized Homophobia, Life Lessons, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, What if Scenario, What if Steve was homophobic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 99,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LagLemon/pseuds/LagLemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fury always wanted to keep Tony Stark on a short leash...</p><p>Tony Stark and Steve Rogers don't get along at all.  They constantly fight and are at each others' throats.  Tony isn't quite sure why Steve doesn't like him, and after a strange fight starts to realize that he might not be the one with the problem after all - well, at least he isn't the cause of ALL the problems.</p><p>After accidentally touching the Crystal of Change, Tony finds himself transformed into a dog... and well... he's not entirely sure what he's supposed to do with himself any more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *** Just to point some things out - Tony/Steve's relationship is far from what would be considered healthy. Tony puts up with a lot of stuff, Steve doesn't really know what he's doing wrong and while some of it can be considered 'fun and games' it can also be seen as hurtful (even though Steve doesn't actually intend it to be that way) I just wanted to clarify things, because it should be very clear here that this is not what people should be expecting in a relationship - Aside from the part where they love each other and would do anything for each other, obviously. Healthy power dynamics are important, so please, please, please don't think that it's appropriate or the right thing if one person is too dominant/controlling in a relationship. ***
> 
>  
> 
> This is my first fic for the Steve/Tony fandom - any comments/critiques are appreciated. Any boo-boos or crazy typos are my fault. Bear with me - I'm still trying to figure out how to upload stuff and I'm busy fighting with random errors right now too. 
> 
> I wanted to deal with the idea that Steve might not actually be as clean cut as the comics/movies make him appear. So this is a much darker Steve then I had first started out with.  
> Homophobia sucks, and I wanted to also talk about it in a way that was serious and comical at once - thus Tony becoming a dog.
> 
> Thanks for reading :)

Tony Stark grew up with frustrating people all around him. Every which way he looked there would be yet another frustrating person staring at him, trying to give him orders. There were so many of them in fact that he started to believe that the world was made up of only frustrating people; he started to doubt that there could be any other kind of personality in the world at all.

At the tender age of five, Tony realized that his father had little to no interest in him; it was a strange thing for a child to learn and it certainly gave Tony plenty of reasons to remain childish well past the age where childishness was acceptable in an individual. He locked away his childishness however when he realized that it really wouldn’t get him anywhere in life if he utilized it all the time. He saved it instead for special occasions – when sarcasm just wouldn’t do. Complaining and whining to his mother got him nowhere as she was usually too zoned out to hear him, fighting off the effects of alcohol and depression. Talking to his father about his ideas and aspirations for life got him into boarding school. He learned to channel the childishness, applying it to other more interesting things, like science and engineering. He liked those subjects; they didn’t yell at him or hit him and they were always around when he needed them.

Tony often wondered what it would be like for someone to just look and listen to him talk about his work without some kind of ulterior motive. It seemed like something out of a story book fairy tale to him that someone could just _listen_. As he aged, growing taller and broader, he found that the best way to get people to pay attention to him was to irritate them to no end until they gave in and listened to his genius whether they liked it or not. He lived to frustrate people who frustrated him by arguing with everything they said; some people didn’t like this particular brand of Tony Stark Logic (patent pending), and he found himself reluctantly doing damage control when he was an adult with a little of Pepper Potts’ prompting.

Tony came off to most people as arrogant, self-absorbed and egotistical – all three things were true and definitely parts of his personality, to an extent. He could admit that easily; it was like putting on a mask for a ball. He could hide behind those three parts of himself and in private he could be himself, an altogether different person. He was certainly egotistical. He was proud of his work and he was proud of himself because _someone_ had to be; he didn’t let people tell him what he could or could not do because _he_ was in charge of his life. Tony’s father had told him that he had no worth as a child and he resented Howard deeply for it. Howard was a drunk, and he didn’t think much of anyone. As a child, Tony put up with the verbal abuse his father threw in his face and watched his father attempt to drink himself into an early grave while his mother simply wandered off to her charity events and ignored them both. Tony’s revenge was to prove Howard wrong by using his mind, not his words; He created elaborate machines and devices, winning prizes and earning accolades that gave him worldwide status and recognition. He took his expected place within Stark Industries and gave the world exciting new products. He improved his father’s designs when he worked in Research and Development and then went on to build a life for himself outside his father’s shadow. Howard could have cared less.

He won no respect from his father for his achievements and Tony learned to expect nothing from other people. No one owed him anything and he didn’t particularly owe anyone else anything either. Those who cooed at him and praised his work were tolerated, but he didn’t find them particularly interesting. He would wine and dine them, filling the empty part of himself with the frivolity of social interaction and sex– his life seemed to be filled with copious amounts of sex, but really, there was only so many times that he could go out and do the same things with the same empty headed people before he got bored.

He grew to enjoy arguing with people and liked the challenge of creating complicated solutions for simple problems; he argued this way because it was all the more satisfying to win completely. It was often better than sex. Unfortunately, his love for arguing led him to fight with nearly everyone that didn’t follow his views. Some of the arguments were playful. He liked to argue with Pepper because she always beat him with logic he could understand. Rhodey passive aggressively argued with him whenever Tony did something particularly annoying that he couldn’t defend against with logic. Tony learned through trial, error and age how to argue with anything he didn’t like or accept. He also learned that while he was excellent at arguing, he was absolutely horrible with apologizing – something that he had reluctantly learned when he was six and had broken his father’s favourite decanter of brandy. Apologizing always felt painful after that, and of course, it should have when all it had gotten him from Howard was a split lip and a broken nose. Negative associations, some doctors would say. Personally Tony just thought that it was because it meant that he’d done something wrong, and he very rarely did something so wrong that he actually had to apologize for it.

Tony never got any better at apologizing to people after that first apology to Howard as a child. He didn’t bother to invest a lot of time in it, so when he finally had to do it, it was often like ripping out fingernails. He found it hard to apologize for his actions; doubly hard when he was apologizing for something he didn’t know he’d done.

It also didn’t help that most of the time now, as an adult of thirty five, he had to apologize to someone who was the epitome of all that was good in the world. This person seemed to believe that Tony was the epitome of all that was evil; all that was rude and spoiled. While Captain America made it very hard to dislike him, he seemed to go out of the way to make sure that Tony did. This made Tony feel like an ass just to be in the same room with Cap – or as he wanted to be called, Steve Rogers, and despite Tony’s brain telling him that he should learn for once how to play nice, Tony never seemed to be able to do so for more than a few minutes at a time in any given day.

True, Steve was responsible for the other half of the ongoing feud they had built around them and really, Steve should have just given in and _accepted_ that Tony was a good guy too, but Steve, being Steve, didn’t give up any battle; he didn’t even give up on the ones that he wasn’t going to win. And so the battle raged on. They would often come close to slapping and hair pulling when they fought. The fact that Steve could easily have thrown Tony through a wall if he wanted to seemed to never seemed to cross either of their minds, and it was just… undignified to be so enraged by someone who wouldn’t punch him out or actually cause bodily harm to anyone who wasn’t some kind of super villain. One could hardly fight so childishly alone (although Tony had been known to argue with himself this way whenever left to his own devices) and as they said, it took two to tango. It never felt like Steve was arguing with him about the same things; maybe they were just tangoing in two opposite directions while still trying to be the lead in an argument neither of them particularly understood. That or they were dancing to the wrong music and didn’t know it – maybe if they were trying to waltz to tango music they would produce the same disastrous results. How he’d gotten from arguing with Steve to dancing with him Tony didn’t know, but it seemed to fit in his mind, so he left it at that.

And besides, Tony could hardly be faulted for winning the arguments in his head, so why should he be faulted for trying to win the ones outside of it too?

He was just very good at arguing. He joked with Pepper that he majored in arguing and minored in irritation in university while earning his other various degrees and accolades. Currently, however, these skills were nothing he was proud of and he would have loved to have been able to go back in time to tell himself – well no. He probably would just tell himself to keep on doing the same things because, hey, they worked _ninety percent_ _of the time_. While it did give him an advantage when say, fighting with the board of directors over some trivial detail, it did not become useful when fighting someone who had little experience with the irrational being that was Tony Stark.

Tony came with his own personal brand of sarcasm. Steve never seemed to get sarcasm; Tony often wondered if he was just pretending so that they could continue to argue because Steve secretly enjoyed it. Maybe Tony wasn’t exactly being honest. Steve knew what sarcasm was. He just didn’t seem to like _anything_ that came out of Tony’s mouth, especially when it came with a snippy come back or snide comment attached to it. Tony wasn’t ashamed that he often took the crude way out and ended arguments with the flipping of a certain finger in Steve’s general direction. This seemed to be the fastest way out of a fight, and Steve would simply turn bright red and then leave the room without another word while Tony wandered off to try and figure out just where the hell it had all gone so horribly wrong in the first place.

 

 

Tony looked down at his coffee and swirled it around in the mug as he tried to force himself to stop thinking about his latest battle with Steve. The mug (a Captain America mug he had favoured long before Steve had entered the picture _thank-you-very-much_ ) was clutched tightly in his left hand, a hand he very rarely used for anything on its own aside from page flipping and on occasion, for grabbing the cereal boxes Pepper always hid in the back of the cupboard where she thought he wouldn’t look; she did this because they were then up too high for him to reach and she enjoyed watching him struggle. She often teased him by leaving the step ladder out in the kitchen where he could see it, daring him to use it.

Tony was currently hiding in his workshop sitting on the floor beside Dummy. Files floated up above him in bright blue holographic form, twirling around the room as Jarvis compiled code and began structuring the latest version of the Iron Man suit, readying it for production. He had three or four different things going at the moment, and they cluttered the room, blocking out sight; which, while Tony wouldn’t really admit to it, had been the point of opening them all together in the first place.

The polished cement floor was very cold and the thin fabric of his faded grey sweat pants and white wife beater weren’t doing a hell of a lot to keep Tony warm to begin with. He debated momentarily on whether heated floors would be a viable option for the workshop, and then remembered that he was often barefoot while working and would probably get heat burns on the soles of his feet from standing in one place too long. That or something would catch on fire if it stayed on the floor for too long, and he didn’t really want to give Dummy any more excuses to use his fire extinguisher. With his luck he would set a stack of Pepper’s papers on fire and then the fire department would be back with their Disappointed Look again. Goddamned hose monkeys.

Tony’s thoughts drifted lazily back to Steve- Their fight had been stupid even in comparison to their other fights. They had been having breakfast. Tony had reached for the toast the same time Steve had and their hands had touched. It had been no big deal to Tony; it wasn’t as if he hadn’t touched another person’s hand before. He had grinned at Steve, hand still touching Steve’s, muttered a ‘ladies first’, which in hindsight probably _might_ have been what set Steve off. He had then had returned to staring straight at Steve so that he could plan out his next move. Steve had gone full on bat crap crazy and had swatted Tony’s hand away as if Tony had been grabbing for his ass.

Tony was hurt; physically, as well as emotionally, although he’d never admit to the emotional part of the hurt unless someone had a gun to his head and was threatening to empty his skull of his brains. His hand was still marked where Steve had struck it. The mark was an ugly red against the paleness of his fading tanned skin. Tony looked down at it and wiggled his fingers, wincing when pain flared up radiating from the centre of his calloused palm, traveling outwards to his fingertips.

_Jesus_.

Steve hadn’t had to hit him so goddamned hard! It had only been toast and a flippant comment. Nothing that was out of the ordinary. He hadn’t even meant anything by it, it had just come out! The pain was a blast from the past that he didn’t appreciate at all. He could almost see Howard sneering down at him if he squinted when he looked up into the fluorescent lights above.

Dummy reached out and patted him on the head with his hand and whirred soothingly at him. Dummy always seemed to know what to do; despite being relatively stupid, the robot always managed to get a good read on his emotional states, providing timely comfort in the form of a pat or aid of some sort. On occasion Dummy would bring blankets or retrieve the bag of cookies Tony had hidden under the couch cushions that were earmarked for really depression occasions only.

“Thanks buddy…” Tony said, dropping his hand to rest against the cold concrete beneath him. He pressed his palm against the cool floor, appreciating the reprieve from pain it gave him as the flesh went pleasantly numb. His hand was probably going to bruise up on him. Fuck. He usually tried to keep his hands as safe from harm as possible. What use was an engineer with broken hands?

Tony took a shaky sip of coffee and set the mug down on the floor beside him, drawing his knees up to his chest. He was not sulking. He wasn’t.

Ok, so maybe he was a _little_ bit.

“Jarvis – turn on some music.” Tony said, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his undamaged hand. The room went a deeper shade of blue momentarily and then dimmed again as Jarvis finished compiling and returned to normal standby status.

“Would you like your usual playlist sir? Or would you perhaps like something more appropriate to your melancholy?” The AI asked, swivelling the security cameras towards Tony as if to watch him. Tony scowled.

“Very funny. Play the music, jackass.”

“Very good sir.”

Country western music began to boom through the speakers loud enough to make his coffee cup skitter across the floor. Tony leaned his head back against the wall behind him and scowled again, feeling the music pound through the back of his skull. Damn Jarvis and his cruel sense of humor. Sometimes he forgot just who programmed the bastard in the first place.

At least the music was loud though. That was something.

Dummy began to sway his arm along with the song and Tony eyed him suspiciously. Stand by Your Man wasn’t something that particularly needed to be this loud or, god forbid, played, _ever_. “I wanted real music Jarvis… not music to slowly age to death by.” He grumbled, looking up at the ceiling.

“Perhaps when the song ends the playlist will move on to something better sir? I am simply accessing playlist number seventy six.” Jarvis said, seemingly now in a better mood then Tony was, the jerk. Despite his best efforts, Tony found himself slowly mumbling along with the song after a few verses, not making eye contact with Dummy who continued to sway back and forth beside him, oblivious to his creator’s shame.

The sound of footsteps snapped Tony back out of his now considerably smaller sulk.

“Sir, Captain Rogers appears to be trying to find a way to open the door. Would you like me to dissuade him?” Jarvis said, lowering the volume of the music only slightly so that Tony could hear him. Steve jumped on the other side of the glass door and looked around, apparently still not used to Jarvis’s disembodied voice despite having lived in the Avengers Mansion for over two months now.

Tony picked up his coffee and peeked around Dummy, who had turned to stare at Steve as well. The robot began to clench and unclench his hand, whirring in what Tony was pretty sure was what constituted as robot anger. “I know the feeling…” Tony muttered. “Fine, let him in. Let’s see what Captain Asshat wants now. Maybe he’s going to stab me with a butter knife or something for breathing his precious air.”

The workshop doors slid open and Steve walked cautiously in, shoulders hunched. The music abruptly shut off, leaving them in silence. Jarvis had taken liberties; Tony wasn’t sure if he liked that.

“Tony?” Steve called out, looking around the room in confusion. His voice echoed off the walls, bouncing towards Tony. Steve stood up on tip-toes and raised a hand over his eyes, peering over the holographic files. He was tall enough to see over them; Tony hated him for that. He spotted Tony sitting against the back wall and dropped back down onto the flats of his feet, creeping closer. Steve looked at the holograms and then began moved quickly, bobbing and weaving in between them as if he wasn’t sure if he should be touching them; Steve stopped a few feet away from Tony. He was surprise when Dummy charged at him and whirring vengefully, seizing him by the pant leg. Steve’s pant leg twisted in Dummy’s grasping hand, the fabric stretching. Dummy began to wheel backwards towards the door, as if to pull Steve out of the room all on his own. His little wheels spun but he could get no traction on the cement. Steve looked absolutely horrified at the robot’s response to his presence.

Tony chuckled despite his dark mood. Steve’s expression was priceless. They should put it on the Avengers Christmas card – it might brighten Fury’s mood a little.

“It’s fine Dummy. Let him go.”

Dummy whirred dejectedly and wheeled back towards Tony, swivelling his arm to face Tony and then back again to face Steve as if glaring at him. He was reluctant to leave Tony alone. When Tony shooed him away with a wave of his hand, he zoomed off and settled in the house he had built for himself over his charging station; Dummy had created it out of scrap metal he had collected from Tony’s various scrap heaps. It looked like something a grade-schooler might have made out of cushions stolen from the couch in the living room. He buzzed ominously at Steve from within his house, hand still poking slightly out of the entrance so that he could keep a metaphorical eye on Steve.

Steve clasped his hands in front of his waist. He was dressed in his jogging clothing, wearing a tight blue shirt and loose sweat pants; the same clothing he’d been wearing when Tony had encountered him in the kitchen. He cleared his throat, looking down at Tony and then dejectedly sighed, hanging his head. Tony was startled, and peered up at Steve from behind his cup of coffee; he mockingly used it as a shield in case another blow came his way.

“I’m sorry about earlier.” Steve said, shuffling a little in place. He looked down at Tony’s injured hand and paled, dropping down to his knees in front of Tony and then stopped, fingers hovering tentatively in the air. Something flickered across his face, as if he wasn’t sure about what he should do. Steve reached out to take Tony’s hand in his own large hand and then stopped yet again, frozen in a place in between movement. His hand hung in the air in front of him, as if someone had pressed the pause button. Tony cocked his head to the side and slowly pretended to sip his coffee, trying to ignore the strangely warm feeling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of Steve so close. Tony’s left hand shook from the unnatural weight of the coffee cup it had never had to lift before.

“What?” Tony asked after waiting patiently for Steve to take up the conversation again.

Steve sighed and pursed his lips.

“God, Tony, I didn’t mean to hurt you – just don’t touch me next time. It makes me very uncomfortable.” Steve said. He sounded very serious all of a sudden, much more so than he ever did when they were arguing. Tony had only heard him use this particular Serious Voice when they were in the field, when Steve was in his Captain America persona.

Tony gawked at him, flabbergasted.

“We brushed _hands_ Rogers – _Hands_!” Tony snapped, suddenly much angrier than ever before. His palm began to throb as he clenched his hands and dropped the coffee cup to the ground; he didn’t hear the sound of cracking porcelain or the sounds of liquid splashing. He didn’t see any of it at all; he was so focused on Steve. His eyes locked with Steve’s and for one painfully lucid moment Tony came to understand why they had been fighting since they had met. Steve looked uncomfortable – perhaps even embarrassingly so – at being close to Tony.

“Did you think I was hitting on you or something?” Tony asked, not breaking eye contact. Steve narrowed his eyes a little and his face reflected the absolute irritation that he was feeling.

“Well you’re always hitting on me. And it makes me uncomfortable, so please don’t do it in the future.” Steve said, standing up, body stiffening. He dusted off his pants and turned away from Tony, moving towards the door, done with the conversation already. Tony, however, wasn’t anywhere near done with it.

“Wow… just… wow.” Tony said, struggling upright. He kicked the upended, cracked, coffee cup with his bare foot and cursed, slipping and sliding through spilled coffee after Steve.

“I didn’t think you were such an asshole Rogers. I guess it’s pretty easy to hide behind that cute face, huh?” Tony said, realizing only a few seconds after saying it that he was yet again baiting Steve into yet another fight. Steve stiffened and turned to look at Tony, his face flushed crimson with anger, his arms ram rod straight at his sides.

“Stop it! I don’t understand why you have to be so damned pushy about everything! I’m not a fag – or whatever they call it nowadays. I’m not, so just quit doing it!” Steve shouted. “Not that there’s anything wrong with anyone being… that way.”

“Doing what? I haven’t _done_ anything!” Tony shouted back as he stomped closer to Steve so that they were now mere inches apart. Tony was much shorter than Steve; their height difference didn’t stop him from snapping back at Steve. Steve stiffened further, although how, Tony wasn’t sure. His hands remained clenched at his sides, and he twitched when Tony pushed himself up on his toes to get further in his face.

“Stop staring at me all the time with that goddamned _look_ on your face! I know you stare! I’m not _blind_! Every time I work out – or when I walk into a room – you stare at me like some kind of animal! I’m your team leader, not your next dame – so knock it off! I frankly find it _disgusting_ that you even think of me like that in the first place –” Steve shouted in Tony’s face, almost hysterical. Tony flinched at the words, and felt Steve’s spittle hit him in the cheek as Steve continued on. “I try to be nice to you! I really do! But you just don’t stop! If you can’t keep your hands to yourself then – then – then I’ll ask Fury to take you off the team!”

Tony didn’t know why he did it. In retrospect, it was probably the stupidest reaction to a reaming out he could have had, but he was angry and tired of Steve’s bullshit. His hand was already bruised from being hit by Steve earlier. It was bruised a lot more after Tony slammed his fist into the side of Steve’s homophobic face.

Tony rocked backwards on his heels, stumbled by his own movement. Steve staggered backwards, more out of shock than from the force of the blow itself. He stared at Tony, stunned. Tony stared back at him, trying to form the sentences to say something in retaliation. Steve opened his mouth, closed it, turned, and stormed out of the room without another word. The door hissed shut as he fled.

Tony stared after him. He managed to pull his thoughts together, and although it was far too late he said the words anyways.

“I’m not even bisexual, you asshole!”

The problem, Tony realized after the words left his mouth, was that he wasn’t even sure that this was the truth. He’d never really thought about men in that way before, but he was pretty sure Pepper had mentioned him having ‘eye-sex’ with everyone who interested him, and that had never been a strictly for-the-ladies-only sort of deal.

He turned to the holographic console and called up the security footage from one of his other arguments with Steve. He zoomed in, biting his lip, and saw that yes, he did appear to be staring at Steve with said certain eye-sex expression on his face. He flipped to the next file and saw that yet again, the same look was on his face – always on his face, actually, when Steve was in the room. Tony picked a file at random and saw that this look didn’t seem to be used when he was with Pepper or Rhodey and it certainly didn’t extend to any of the other Avengers. A file from one of his various one night stands opened up after another haphazard click and he saw a very naked brunette woman climbing into his bed.

The look on his face mirrored the look he had on his face in all of the other videos where he was with Steve.

Tony closed the files with a flick of his wrist and then crossed his arms over his chest. He began to drum his fingers on his arm, thinking. _Was_ he attracted to Steve? A few hours ago if someone had asked him he would have responded with a firm and solid ‘no’, but now he wasn’t so sure. He’d never consciously thought about Steve and his abs that way before…

Well, no, that wasn’t true per say. He had thought about those abs in what he assumed was a purely heterosexual envious sort of way – not a lusty ‘I want to climb you like a tree and molest your coconuts’ way. He sighed. Well, there was an obvious solution to this conundrum. He would have to just watch some gay porn and find out the hard way. Tony smirked childishly at his own pun and then looked around the room once to make sure that no one was approaching who would be walking into something potentially embarrassing. It wasn’t that he hadn’t trolled porn in his workshop before… it was merely a precaution in case someone came down and managed to look through the glass workshop doors and walls.

“Jarvis, can you black out the windows with a bunch of random files? You know the ones. And lock down the workshop for the next three hours or so… I don’t want any visitors, no matter who they are.” Tony said, clearing his throat.

“Would you like me to dim and lights and bring up your usual sites sir?” Jarvis asked, papering the glass walls of the workshop with layer after layer of blue holograms. From the outside, it would look like Tony had put up wallpaper. Tony shook his head and began to type lazily on the holographic keyboard in front of him. He pulled up a search engine. And then, he paused, fingers poised over the keyboard, staring at it as if to make the words appear on their own. When they didn’t materialize, he mentally cursed and then cleared his throat again.

“Actually this is more of a bold new adventure kind of deal – I’m tempted to make you look the other way this time buddy. It’s a little personal.”

“Sir, I would like to point out that I have seen you naked on multiple occasions. I will, however, turn my attention to the next set of schematics for your improved blender if it would alleviate your discomfort sir.” Jarvis said.

“Thank you. That would be nice.”

And with that done, Tony typed the words Gay Porn into a search engine for the first time in his life. The results were enlightening. He went through page after page of hot man on man action, looking at still images. When he found nothing interesting there, he decided to move on to video to see if that would be any more exciting.

Tony picked a video that seemed to be used as a ‘teaching’ tool for young gay men; it caught his attention because it seemed to have the most views of all the videos he found and would answer some of his own questions; mostly the questions he didn’t really feel like typing out for fear of them appearing again in the auto selection bar. The video featured a tall hunky blonde with muscles rippling all over and a slightly slender younger black haired man. Tony watched with ‘scientific interest’ and a little guilt as the pair began to go through a step by step sexy walkthrough of how to have anal sex.

He paused and looked over his shoulder suspiciously to make sure no one was peering in with their face pressed up against the glass walls (he SO knew that Clint would be the one looking if there was anyone looking at all) and finding himself free of peepers, he un-paused the video and continued to watch. At several stages of the video it broke down into ‘learning sections’, most notably the ‘how not to hurt your partner’ section where the video taught Tony several handy tips on how not to make his ‘special someone’ bleed and what would be required for ‘a safe sexual encounter’. Tony was a little terrified to be honest after that part (again, not that he was some kind of blushing virgin or something, he knew how to use a condom and lube of course). The two on screen seemed to be having a good time and were making very happy noises, and no one seemed to be dying or bleeding to death, so it must have been reasonably enjoyable despite the threat of ‘anal bleeding’. Tony shuddered at that and pushed it away as the video continued on. He looked down at his groin. No movement at all. Not that he’d really expected anything in the first place. He was decidedly _not_ interested in sex with another man. Not at all. Tony decided that he should at the very least pretend that Blond Hunk was Steve, to prove once and for all that he was not attracted to him.

Unfortunately that had disastrous and unexpected results. Tony closed the window quickly and then glared down at his hard on as it poked up towards him demanding attention.

“Goddamn you penis! Why don’t you think before you do things?” He growled at his groin. It paid no attention to him. Tony’s thoughts drifted momentarily to a naked Steve and it twitched. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Oh god… He really was lusting after Steve Rogers…

He was doomed. Steve was going to kill him.

 

 

The Avengers received their first call out of the week four hours after Tony had punched Steve in the face and then trolled for gay porn. Tony was sealed up in the Iron Man suit and felt fairly guilty when he joined the others in the Quinjet hanger, knowing that they all _must_ have known something about the earlier fight, or maybe, about his activities on the internet. _Someone_ had to have seen the bruise on Steve’s face and asked about it. But no – not a word was spoken about it, and when Tony snuck looks at Steve, he could see no trace of any bruising peeking out from under the bottom of the cowl.

They boarded the Quinjet all together with Steve in the lead. Tony went on last, checking out the jet with his sensors as a way to calm himself before joining Steve in the cockpit. He had been informed by Jarvis, who had gotten a hold of the mission files ahead of time that this would be a long journey and it always paid to make sure that things were working as they should be. He didn’t want to have to face Steve’s wrath if something happened and he hadn’t caught it; it might be even worse than admitting that he might possibly be _in lust_ with Steve in the first place.

Tony walked through the jet’s interiors and sat in the co-pilot seat, letting Steve drive so that he wouldn’t accidentally fly them into a mountain as he muddled his way through thinking about how he was going to stop _thinking_ about Steve. Steve sat rigidly in the pilot’s seat and didn’t look at him even when he needed to look at the monitors near Tony. Steve talked to the group about what they were going, addressing everyone but Tony, and then fell completely silent and stared out the windshield the whole time after; the silence was comfortable, and Tony was glad for it for once. He didn’t attempt to fill it and instead pretended Steve was mad because the weather was bad (it wasn’t). He pretended that he’d never even seen Steve that morning, that his little porn trolling afternoon had never happened either and kicked his feet up on the console, leaning back to catch a little sleep; although he feared what those dreams would contain now. He was jerked unceremoniously out of his micro nap when Steve shoved his legs off of the console, glaring at him. Tony looked around, dazed, and saw that, yes, they were still flying and nothing bad had happened.

“Keep your feet off the consoles.” Steve snapped at him, turning back to the windshield. His stern face reflected in the window; the Captain America armor was a lot more interesting on him now. All that leather was distracting with its form hugging bulges and the sharp lines of his hips. Tony had to look away to keep from staring blatantly at Steve. He knew that Steve would be able to see him doing it. He could already see frown lines forming on Steve’s face as it was. Tony debated on putting his feet back up in slight retaliation, wanting to try and make things the way they had been before. He decided against it after a moment of quiet consideration, not wanting to start a full on scream out with Steve yet again.

Tony focused his attention on the data streaming around inside his helmet. Jarvis had laid out the most important information first, leaving him to study it at his leisure. The Avengers were heading out into the forested mountains of British Columbia; Canada. They were looking for an old mining town called Sandon. The place was a ghost town, abandoned after the silver rush. It had the look of a movie set for a western that had been abandoned to the ravages of time; it was slowly being consumed by the landscape. There were only a few wooden buildings left of the original township, which had stretched for blocks alongside the banks of the river nearby. Most of the other rickety homes, hotels and shops had been destroyed after a flood had occurred back in the old timey times. Tony was surprised that the entire place hadn’t been turned to charcoal by forest fires as well. It was very close to the trees, and it had been a hot year that year.

There was little new in the town, only a few tourist places that had been established in reclaimed buildings, and while Tony’s readouts said there were supposedly residents still living out past the centre of the abandoned town, he couldn’t see how they could survive there for long on their own. They apparently had electricity and phone lines, which was nice to see, but had little else in the way of technology. Residents would probably spend more time shopping and doing their actual living outside the town in neighboring cities. Sandon had a museum and a few other attractions like broken down vehicles and well… some very nicely rounded river rocks, but little else. The town was dead; that hadn’t been enough to stop Loki from messing about in it. The curator of the museum (Tony had been surprised to learn) was a personal friend of Nick Fury’s from grade school, and when strange things had begun to happen in the ghost town, he had been notified of it. SHIELD was always looking for a way to track Loki and this was the perfect way to catch him before he got too involved in one of his plans. Thor had been in quiet agreement with this; he’d been unusually quiet after entering the Quinjet and had been meditating for the majority of the trip.

Tony had always been fascinated by mining towns; he’d made it a point of having Jarvis take him to every single one available to him in his youth, even after he’d come back from the boarding school. They generally had trains – old trains – and he liked to look at all the old engineer reports and smelting facilities records because it felt so damn charming to see how things had been done before computers. He couldn’t believe that people had been able to live that way – steam powered trains for transportation, so much fun, but oh _god_ \- He could have gotten out and ran alongside one without his suit and still been faster! Still, there was always something to learn from the past, and he was glad to get the chance to sight see old technology in action – or rather… in permanent disarray and inaction as it was. Nothing ran anymore and the rail lines had been ripped out and melted down for someone’s private endeavors. Nothing old stayed around for long when scavengers were plentiful, and there were an abundance of those to be had when copper and iron was at stake.

 

When they landed in Sandon, Tony was the first man out the door; he felt like he was on springs. He listened half-heartedly to Clint’s bitching about it being the most boring fucking place ever (Clint’s exact words) and then flew up a few feet into the air above the museum. He made sure to keep his replusor boots away from the ancient looking roof in case he started an accidental fire, and got a good look at the landscape while the others scrambled out of the Quinjet below him. What remained of the place matched up with the satellite images Jarvis had sent him. The main compound was organized into a rectangular area surrounded by white rock gravel; there were no new vehicles around, and the burn out marks from tires suggesting that the curator and employees had fled and hadn’t returned after the initial Loki sightings. He didn’t blame them. Who wanted to mess around with Loki without some kind of projectile or magical hammer? Anyone would be afraid after seeing what Loki was capable of, especially if he was ‘raising the dead’ as the curator had said. Tony didn’t believe there had been any actual dead raisings to be had – he’d have seen the shapes on his sensors already if they had been around.

He scanned the surroundings just encase and saw that there was considerable damage to the surrounding infrastructure. Many of the buildings appeared to have vomited up half their wooden paneling when they had been hit by something – something big, judging by his calculations. This was recent damage for sure; probably from the initial attack by Loki, as there were no hot spots in the town itself. The surrounding forests were brilliantly green, distracting him momentarily from his scanning. It was almost unnaturally green here, as if something had been working behind the scenes to make everything much larger and more vibrant than it should have been. He suspected magic and scowled. He hated magic. It was always such a pain.

Tony could see smoke trailing off in wisps from the abandoned mining facility up in the mountains above. The facility was made of newer materials, probably from the various historian preservation society projects that had swept into the town to save it from itself. A gravel road curved its way up the side of the mountain to allow access by vehicles. There wasn’t any other way up without flight. There shouldn’t have been anything happening up by the mine by all accounts– the mine had been shut down eons ago and it was chained off so that tourists wouldn’t stumble to their deaths down the mountainside. Whatever had gone down had happened within the last hour or so he calculated.

Thor looked incredibly humbled by their surroundings as he looked around. He whispered in hushed tones, which was startling on its own, when he spoke to the others. It was as if they were in a graveyard during someone’s funeral. Thor called out his brother’s name as if he expected Loki to spring out from behind some rock and shout surprise at any moment. Bruce seemed to be feeling the same way as Thor. He kept close to Natasha, nervously eyeing their surroundings, but wasn’t looking even a little green despite his obvious discomfort.

“Well at least we don’t have to worry if Bruce hulks out here… Not much left for Hulk to smash…” Tony joked, dropping down to hover beside one of the old abandoned rusting red trollies. He caught sight of Steve’s scowling face in his cameras and even though he hadn’t been looking directly at him felt a little as if he had been just caught spying on him. He focused his attention on one of the trollies, pretending to scan it as if he’d seen something interesting there and kept his helmeted head turned away from everyone else.

“There’s smoke up on the mountainside.” Natasha said, shielding her eyes to peer up through the blinding sunlight. It was a beautiful day, all blue skies and white fluffy clouds; perfect for Loki’s pranks. Natasha looked to Steve for orders, expectantly; Steve seemed content to continue looking around where they were and didn’t have any orders for her. She frowned at him, obviously unhappy by his lack of leadership, but remained silent. She looked to Tony, who shrugged at her and turned away, not wanting to step on Steve’s toes by issuing any orders of his own.

Tony wasn’t exactly surprised by Steve’s hunt and peck methods. Maybe Sandon was reminiscent of some school field trip Steve had had back in ye olden days. The place looked like it had been waiting for visitors for a long time without getting any. He could almost imagine the buildings looking down at him with pouting windows and sad, frown faced doors.

Tony sighed, shooting up into the air, flying high up above the town. The team looked like marbles from up in the air.

“I’m going to check out the smoke – I’ll scream if anything big pops out and bites me in the ass.” Tony said. He winced internally at his own choice of words and then thought, fuck it, and flew off towards the mountainside as Steve began to yell at him from somewhere below.

“Iron Man – we stick together! There’s no telling what Loki’s done to this place – “ Steve growled through the comms, dashing off into the trees to find the road leading up to the mine Tony had flown off to.

“Whatever.”

Tony scowled, turning his mic off. He could hear Steve’s grunt of frustration, and rolled his eyes even though only he and Jarvis would know he’d done it. Not like it would have been any skin off Steve’s ass if Tony ran into trouble. He’d probably be happy to be rid of his perverted admirer. Fury wouldn’t even have batted an eyelash if Tony wound up dead, and Tony was pretty much the team’s solo funder.

“I’m so unloved.” Tony grumbled to no one in particular.

“Sir?” Jarvis asked in his ear.

“Nothing – just rambling aloud.”

“Very good sir.” Jarvis said, falling silent.

Tony did a lazy barrel roll and landed at the entrance to the mine, looking around. The area was still cleared out even though mining had ended years ago. The road leading up the mountain was mostly free of weeds and looked in good condition up close. The gravel beneath his feet was old and white like chalk; it crunched and crumbled into dust whenever he walked, the weight of the suit too much for it. He couldn’t see any sign of magical mayhem here, and the smoke seemed to have died down for some reason. His sensors weren’t picking up any breeze to push the smoke away, so it seemed likely that the fire itself had been magical in nature.

A few trees from the swallowing forest had been turned to charcoal, and despite the proximity of the forest the flames hadn’t spread any further then the area directly around a rounded stone plaque set with bronze. The plaque was so covered in soot that even his sensors couldn’t pick up most of the letters written on it. Tony squinted at it, making out a few loose vowels and then gave up. There wasn’t much point in reading it anyways; Jarvis helpfully gave him photographs from the historical society’s files that showed the plaque in its heyday. It had been put up to commemorate the deaths of those who had worked in the mine. It read: For all of those whose souls wander lost within the darkness. Change is only a matter of time. We thank those who work to achieve a new life. A curious sentiment, but as far as Tony could tell it had been meant to keep people from despairing after the initial deaths and hadn’t been linked to anything in the Occult. He turned away from the disturbing words and looked around, spying the remainders of a camp fire. Charred logs lay abandoned by the entranceway to the mine circled around a handful of large rounded river rocks that were blackened with soot. Tony scanned the remains of the fire with his heat sensor and saw that parts of it still showed signs of warmth. Someone had been here a few minutes before.

“Man of Iron – I strongly suspect that my brother has been drawn here by the spiritual energy. I can see the dead all over this place… It is most disconcerting…” Thor’s voice boomed over the comms, shocking Tony out of his private musings. He jumped, the motion translating into a twitching of the armor and turned to look down at the town below. He scanned the surroundings again to see if he’d missed something. He couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary; not even a trace of Loki’s magic, which he had programmed the suit to recognize after their many encounters in town.

“I’m not getting anything up here big man. What do you mean you can see the _dead_?” Tony asked, nervously air quoting.

“The dead wander within the town, my friends. It is as if their spirits have escaped the land of the dead. They are now gazing up towards your location, Man of Iron. I believe they may be able to see you, but I am not certain of the extent or range of their gaze. Perhaps they merely stare at the mines up above dreaming of better days; I know not. The energy here is strangely familiar.” Thor said. He took to the air with a mighty swing of Mjolnir, waving at Tony to get his attention.

Tony shivered, feeling a cold draft go down his spine; he knew it was impossible to feel cold the suit. That freaked him out more.

“Don’t say that – how many times have I told you not to say things like that Thor.” Tony said weakly. He stiffened when he heard the sound of gravel rolling away and turned to once more stare at the mine entrance, finding himself drawn to its gaping maw. The mine seemed to be looking into him as much as he was looking into it. He shivered again, feeling goose bumps forming on his skin.

He’d have to go inside if he wanted to investigate more. Tony could see a faint trail of crushed stones making their way into the mines; the stones had been kicked and dropped along the entrance to the mine as well, and he suspected that it had been left behind by someone making their way inside in haste.

“Oh man…I’m so not going to enjoy this.”

Tony started towards the mine’s entrance.

“Tony – no! Do not head into the mines without us!” Steve’s voice cut in as he appeared on the horizon; Steve ran up the gravel road, not quite out of breath but close to it. He must have sprinted all the way up the hill, because Clint, Bruce and Natasha weren’t even in sensor range yet and Thor was still flying towards him, waving madly. Tony shrugged his shoulders, looking back into the mine. He felt its strange pull again. Tony looked at Steve, debated on waiting and being a good boy, and then walked into the mine without looking back.

 

It was very dark inside the mine. He’d been in mines before, but this one seemed almost unnaturally so; it reminded him a little of the overly brilliant forest outside. He hadn’t been expecting to see any light in here as there was no electricity, but he’d expected at least a little light to have followed him in from the mine’s entrance. The unnatural darkness was the first thing Tony noticed as his sensors started to scan their location. The second thing he noticed was the fact that cold was suddenly able to permeate the armor. The chill wouldn’t be chased off with his central heating even when he tried to turn it up to a level that should have been very uncomfortable warm. A faint sheen of ice clung to the chest of the suit and he shook it off, scattering ice crystals all over his feet. Tony looked around and was very, very aware that he couldn’t pick up any of the walls or even the floor of the mine he had supposedly entered. He could hear the sound of sand and stones beneath his feet; he could see nothing and the sensors were just as devoid of life.

Even with his cameras and advanced tech in the Iron Man Tony seemed to be walking into the darkness itself, heading down into nothingness. He turned to look out the mine’s entrance and found that it had been swallowed up, the light extinguished. Tony shivered again and took a few steps backwards, bumping up against something unseen; the shrill sound of scraping metal made his teeth ache.

Hm… that wasn’t good. Tony bit down on panic and gave the area a good scanning on the off chance that something might have changed.

Tony checked his readings again and then once more for good measure. As he expected, he was stuck in something that was completely enveloping him, yet there was no actual data supporting that conclusion at all. Everything was solid and stable. He was in what his armor believed was a void. Jarvis’ voice broke up and crackled as the AI read out some details; all sound then fell away and Tony found himself in silence. He was alone with only himself for company. Now he was seriously regretting his suicidal tendencies.

Tony looked around; he could see that the darkness was formed into two distinct directions – a backwards and forwards, although those could have been up and down for all he knew. He hesitated, tried calling out through the comm again but found that he was now in radio silence, and not even static seemed to reach his ears. The cold wavered in his sensors suddenly, taking the shape of something solid; the sensors fell quiet a moment later.

 

“Stark. I should have guessed that you’d be the one stupid enough to walk into the spell without thinking.” Loki’s voice surrounded him, smooth as silk. Tony jumped, skidding backwards.

The scanners still reported nothing. Thermal scanning showed only his body heat and nothing more. Tony raised his left hand repulsor in front of him and even with the repulsor there charged and ready to fire, the light refused to free him from the overwhelming darkness.

“What’s all this about Loki? You got some kind of boogie man fetish these days? Or you are planning to pick up chicks here because they can’t see your ugly-ass face?” Tony called out, hoping to taunt Loki into revealing himself. He was not disappointed. Loki slid out from the darkness as if he had been swimming in it. He wrapped his arms around Tony’s shoulders in a manner far more comfortable than Tony appreciated, lips curled in the most sweet of smiles.

It was then that Tony noticed that he couldn’t move.

He swore loudly.

“My my… such naughty language. Not that it bothers me any, but if your handsome Captain heard you he’d probably turn bright red like one of those midgardian vegetables they sell in the supermarket.” Loki laughed and tapped the faceplate. Tony found himself suddenly face to face with the villain, the faceplate having snapped up without his permission. He composed himself, hiding his horror, and tried for cocky. Loki looked him right in the eye, absolutely gleeful. His lips curled dangerously at the corners when he saw Tony’s expression through the darkness; he was unconcerned by it.

“You have no idea what you’ve wandered into, _do you_? It took me months of casting runes to even find the entrance to this place and here you are, stumbling in here like a foolish little puppy chasing a tennis ball. While my brother might find this endearing, midgardian, _I_ do not. The Crystal of Change is a worthy prize and it is mine. It will remain that way. You can linger here in the darkness for all I care – maybe the dead will be kind enough to release your soul when they tire of your corpse.” Loki laughed. He reached out, running a finger down Tony’s cheek and paused to rub Tony’s beard, seemingly intrigued by the textures as the hair bristled beneath his smooth slender fingers.

“Piss off Loki!” Tony spat. He tried to force his arms to move and willed his legs to get with the picture so that he could wipe the smug look off Loki’s face.

Nothing. He couldn’t even turn his head. He began to sweat, remembering Obi and those minutes spent struggling alone against immovability; it had seemed like forever when he had been trapped there on his own couch. Tony wanted to grab for his arc reactor and clutch it; to keep it safe from prying hands. He wanted to call out for Steve and the others to help him. For anyone to help him, really, he wasn’t picky.

Loki spun him around as if dancing with him and reached into his robes, pulling out a pinkie length clear crystal that sparkled in the darkness. Loki stroked the crystal lovingly, lifting it up so Tony could get a better look at it, eyes twinkling. He held it out, laughing when Tony’s face scrunched with concentration in another vain attempt to lash out.

“Pathetic.” Loki laughed.

Loki’s eyes widened suddenly and he staggered forwards, slamming into Tony’s chest, bouncing off with a squawk; he’d been hit from behind by something that didn’t show up on the sensors. Loki lost his grip on the crystal. It leapt out of his grasp and disappeared into the neck section of Tony’s armor, dropping down into the centre of the suit.

Tony felt as if his entire body was suddenly on fire. He tried to pull away from the crystal’s touch, wanting to yank the amour off and flee from the pulsing, burning heat, but found that his body still wouldn’t cooperate. The intensity of his pain flared up higher; he choked back tears as pain ripped through his entire body. The sensation burned and froze his flesh simultaneously. He screamed aloud, voice rising in pitch as pain blossomed within him; he bit his tongue so hard that he tasted coppery blood.

Tony could hear Loki’s screams of frustration and rage echoing his own; he heard the sound of metal ricocheting against stone. The darkness seemed to swell and pulse in time with the burning tempo of the crystal scraping against his flesh. The scent of burning hair choked his airways. Tony thought momentarily about Steve and how angry he would be at him. He blacked out and then he saw nothing.

 

Tony woke up in darkness. He scrambled to regain his senses, clawing at everything around him and found that he was still in the suit; it was suddenly far too large for him. He called out, trying to get someone, anyone, to help him but nothing came out of his mouth when he opened it except for a harsh bark. Fabric flowed around him, pooling around his hips. He kicked away from it and turned his body around and managed to orient himself so that he could look up above him. The Iron Man helmet had fallen off, leaving the neck of the suit gaping open. Tony saw precious, precious light. He could hear Steve’s voice calling out to him.

Steve. So close – so very close.

He began to crawl towards the light and Steve’s voice, seeing the interior of the suit around him lit up in glorious white and beige. His paws scraped against the metal as he wiggled and wiggled – wait.

That wasn’t right.

His paws?

He pulled his way out of the neck of the armor with fear and stared down at his paws, aghast.

His white and fluffy paws. Paws where his hands had once been.

His brain registered the change but didn’t seem to be able to process it.

The crystal that Loki had been holding fell out after him as he struggled to be free of the suit, untangling from his fur; it hit the ground with a soft plink.

Steve’s giant hands encircled Tony’s entire body and lifted him up. Tony stared at Steve and noticed vaguely that there was something wrong with the way Steve’s uniform looked. It was still blue and white, but now the red was some kind of greyish-beige that didn’t look right at all. He stared at Steve, shell shocked, and Steve stared at him with blue saucer-eyes of horror.

“Tony?” Steve asked, dismayed.

“Yes Steve…” Tony said. Or rather, he meant to say yes Steve, but it came out as a mixture of ‘buff ruff whine’. He looked down at the half of his body hanging from Steve’s hands and saw medium length white fur and a semi-curled, furry white tail.

He had been turned into a dog. He groaned. He _hated_ magic!

“Steven! Have you found the Man of Iron?” Thor boomed from behind them. Steve turned so fast that Tony was almost certain he’d end up with whiplash afterwards. Steve held up Tony, mouth opening and closing rapidly.

Thor looked more amused than concerned when he saw Tony’s condition. The god reached out and took Tony from Steve’s hands, cradling him baby style in his arms and then pointed lazily at the crystal lying at Steve’s feet.

Thor scratched Tony’s head. Tony’s eyes closed halfway; he was pretty sure he was going to start drooling if Thor didn’t knock it off, but he had no way to tell him this. Tony shook his head, ears flapping against his skull, and squirmed in Thor’s grasp but couldn’t escape the god’s hold.

Steve picked up the crystal, apparently using the time between bending and returning to an upright position to collect his calm once more. He held the crystal out in the palm of his gloved hand and offered it to Thor, who took it from him, examining it while Tony continued to squirm. Thor made an ‘ah!’ sound and then rested the crystal on Tony’s head and commanded: “Speak, Man of Iron!”

“What am I a – “

Tony stopped in mid-snark and cocked his head to the side, ears twitching. He had heard his own human voice, not barking, this time. He fell still, pondering this new development. Thor laughed loudly; he winced.

“Friends, my brother has fled this place – the magic of the crystal has drained and now requires replenishing, although I am unsure as to what it uses as a source of power. It seems familiar to me, although I admit that I cannot place the information. I have seen transformations similar to this before, and I believe that Anthony will be required to keep the crystal with him so that he may communicate – perhaps we will need to fashion a receptacle for it of some kind… a band perhaps of leather or some other fabric.” Thor mused, handing the crystal to Steve, who slipped it into his pocket, being very careful with it.

“You mean like a collar?” Steve asked, bewildered.

“Yes my friend! That would prove most useful!” Thor said, smiling widely. He noticed Tony’s fallen suit and helmet lying discarded on the dusty ground. Thor held Tony out to Steve, and stooped to pick up the suit and the helmet. Steve held Tony out in front of him as if he were a bag of garbage, not wanting to be too close to him. Tony felt insulted.

“What the hell Steve?” Tony barked; he cursed aloud with a howl when all that came out was that same whining bark as before. He wanted that damned crystal back right now, just so he could complain! He stared at Steve, who turned him around and pointed him in the opposite direction as if having been burned by Tony’s gaze.

“We should probably go tell the others…” Steve said, shaking his head; for the first time since Tony had known him, Steve’s eyes looked shaken despite the rest of his calm exterior. Thor lifted Tony’s armor over his shoulder and smiled, positively beaming despite the obvious problem they now faced. The Iron Man helmet was tucked under his other arm, Mjolnir hanging from his belt once more.

“Yes Steven, I believe this would be a most excellent idea. We should regroup so that our strength is once more balanced.” Thor said, smiling. Steve smiled weakly back at him in agreement.

They walked out of the mine together, unsure of just what had happened.

 

 

Tony sat on the floor of the Quinjet enduring the inevitable poking and prodding from the others. He had been looked over by Bruce, who had come to the conclusion that, yes, Tony was a dog; then Bruce had sat down and began to look at research notes and had been silent ever since. Natasha had given Tony one look, mentioned ‘crotch sniffing’ and then gestured with one of her knives at him. Tony had gotten the picture pretty fast and had retreated to hiding behind Clint’s legs.

Clint was the most amused by Tony’s transformation. He was the only one of the team aside from Thor who seemed unconcerned with getting dog fur on their clothing.

“I always wanted a dog!” Clint said fondly picking Tony up. He played with Tony’s slender, white, front legs, flapping them and squeezing the black pads of his toes. Clint proceeded to mime shooting the others with Tony’s little white feet. Tony hung his head, having given up on trying to get away. Clint had him in a vice like grip and no matter how much he struggled to get free he couldn’t; it was almost worse than when he had been snared by Thor.

Clint grinned down at Tony and cackled with laughter, nearly crying; he was joined by Thor, who probably didn’t fully understand the insanity, but knew that it was funny anyways. Natasha smiled despite herself and then went back to filing her nails with one of her knives.

The Iron Man suit lay abandoned and forlorn in the back of the jet resting against the wall beside the bay doors. Tony felt a little twinge of guilt when he noticed it was listing slightly to the side as they took off. He hoped that it wouldn’t fall over. God knew how he’d buff out any dents the way he was now.

Steve got the Quinjet into the air and they flew home in relative silence, punctuated only by Tony yelping whenever Clint pulled his tail too hard. The trip was a long one, dragging on for everyone, not only Tony. It seemed even longer than it had the first time around, Tony mused. He was able to break free from Clint’s death grip when the archer nodded off; Clint lay limp against his chair, head lolling against his chest. Tony slipped out from under his arm completely when the archer twitched in his sleep; he jumped down from Clint’s lap and landed with a roll, bumping against Natasha’s legs. She watched him curiously for a moment and then leaned back and went back to sleep herself.

Tony padded along the metal floor to the front of the jet and hopped up onto the co-pilot’s seat, peeking up over the dash as they moved. He caught a glimpse of the sky and clouds before Steve turned and shooed him off the seat with a sweep of his arm.

“Tony – no. You’ll get fur all over the upholstery.” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tony looked up at him, affront in his little black-rimmed brown eyes. He darted forwards and seized Steve by the pant leg as Dummy had done in the workshop that morning. His black nose twitched as he sneezed on Steve in defiance. He wasn’t entirely sure what had gotten into him – he’d always been willing to start a fight with Steve, but this just felt bizarre.

Steve set the jet controls to auto-pilot and sighed, turning the seat around to give Tony his full attention. He reached down and pried Tony’s jaws open gently, pulling his leather pant leg free. He pushed Tony back with one gloved hand. God, Tony thought, it was even easier for Steve to push him around now than it had been before. Steve’s hands were massive against his body; he looked like a giant in comparison with Tony. Steve had always been big, but he’d never been this big. Tony felt a little depressed. Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out the crystal, looking at it in frustration, as if it would magically decide to transform Tony back into Tony. When it didn’t, he sighed and put it away again, safeguarding it.

Tony pawed at Steve’s leg. He cursed himself for the action; cursed Steve for glaring at him yet again. He tried to think responsibly and wanted to act like an adult. Instead, he stood up and jumped up onto the co-pilot’s chair again. Steve groaned and pushed Tony off the seat.

“Tony – no!”

Tony readied himself for another jump once he hit the floor, infuriated that he was being kept off his own chair.

“It’s my jet Steve!” He barked. Steve rolled his eyes at him, unable to understand a word of what Tony was saying.

Tony’s next jump ended with him being seized out of the air and held up by the scruff of his neck. He dangled from Steve’s hand, yelping. Embarrassment flooded his face and he looked desperately down at the floor, legs kicking haphazardly in the air as he tried to find purchase. Steve set him down on the floor and shooed him away from the front of the Quinjet with both hands.

“Tony. No.” Steve grumbled with a sigh.

Tony scooted away from Steve, picking up speed as he tried to get away. He scraped his way back towards Thor, claws clicking on the metal flooring. He turned at the back of the walkway and prepared to run, throwing himself forwards as his claws scraped from the initial take off. Steve noticed before Tony had even managed to get even remotely close.

“Thor – can you hold onto Tony? He’s being a pain.” Steve called out from the front with yet another loud sigh. Tony skidded to a halt, fur bristling. He growled and bared his teeth as Thor reached down and scooped him up, snapping at his hands. Tony found himself hoisted up and set down on Thor’s muscled thighs. Thor’s hands stroked him roughly and made his brain melt into a puddle of happy goo; Tony’s back fur pulled against his body in a way that was far more pleasant than it should have been if he were still in his real form. Sitting on Thor’s lap was like sitting in front of a wood stove; he was warm and comfortable. Tony found his eyes half closing without his permission, almost falling asleep as Thor continued to stroke his back. Tony was quiet for the rest of the trip as he sat still and quietly in Thor’s lap, thinking on the challenges ahead.

What if they couldn’t turn him back? How long could he be stuck like this?

The crystal would make it possible for him to speak and at least express himself, but he couldn’t use his suit like this and he certainly couldn’t run his company. He couldn’t even see in the same frequency as a human anymore, and that would be a bitch to adapt his workshop monitors to. He rested his head on Thor’s knee and sighed. There were so many problems to go through and only so much he could do about it without being able to talk; there was even less he could do with four paws instead of hands. Hopefully Steve would let him have the crystal again. He wouldn’t put it past Steve to punish him for having run off into the mine in the first place though. There were so many ways to teach him a lesson now – Tony didn’t even want to think about how creative Steve could be with this.

Forget Steve though – Steve wasn’t going to rip his head off and skin him alive.

Pepper would; in a heartbeat.

Pepper was going to be mad. Very, very mad.

At least he’d have an excuse for not signing all of those papers now though. There was that.

 

 

Tony sat patiently in the SHIELD HQ medical bay as he was poked and prodded by a whole new selection of scientists and acquaintances. Colson had even found time in his busy schedule to come and stare at Tony. To stare at the freak show just like the rest of them. Creepily enough, Colson seemed to be smiling the whole time he was there and didn’t, for once, reach for his Taser or make any Supernanny related threats. Tony found him a lot more frightening.

The Medical Bay Officer, a balding man who towered above even Steve’s shoulders, put him up on one of the many examination tables and held him there with one hand while his assistants made notes and took blood samples.

“List please. We have a dog – so far unspecified in breed. Excellent appearance with no visible injuries. White fur, pointed ears, long snout…”

The Medical Officer opened Tony’s mouth and looked at his teeth. He inspected each of Tony’s slender legs and paws, poking at the footpads and testing his joints. He turned Tony over on his back to stare at his belly, poking and prodding with a gloved hand. Tony felt as if he were being examined by a mortician. He shuddered involuntarily. He was allowed to pull away after the assistant took one final vial of blood and urine (which he had not been happy about, but Steve had insisted it be done anyways) and dropped down to dash off to the other side of the room. He took cover under one of the beds and yelped when he was dragged unceremoniously out from underneath by one of the Agents guarding the room. Tony had always hated the Medical Bay at SHIELD. They didn’t seem to understand bedside manner; they thought it meant ‘please abuse patients’. He whined aloud, knowing that they couldn’t understand his complaints anyways, and for once was happy when Clint picked him up and carried him away to safety. He wasn’t quite as happy when he found himself shoved into Coulson’s arms when Clint was called away to talk with someone out in the hallway. He couldn’t see who, but he suspected that it might be Bruce asking for an opinion on something. Bruce usually asked for personal opinions before he did anything; it was strange that someone who could turn into a giant green rage monster would ask for an opinion in the first place, seeing as how most people would just agree with him by default. Coulson had held him carefully and commented loud enough so that only Tony could hear him that he had better not pee on him in revenge. Tony had glared at him for that, but at least Coulson was treating him like a human; Tony had threatened to pee on him once when he had been drunk – it hadn’t gone over as well as he had liked. He distinctly remembered drooling into the rug after doing it.

Coulson wasn’t that bad though. He even brought Tony a bowl of water and scratched him behind the ears. He’d been muttering about Tasers when he did it, but it had been good natured muttering about Tasers at least. Tony suspected that the new SHIELD weapons catalogues had come out and that he’d been sneaking a peek at the newest models.

Steve and Natasha had been in and out of the room already. Tony had been annoyed when Steve had started reading off one of the SHIELD issue tablets two seconds after they had gotten back to SHIELD, completely ignoring Tony being manhandled a few feet away. Steve was probably taking Tony’s transformation as yet another reason to hate him. Tony was steadily building up a pile of faults for Steve to catalogue one by one. Steve probably had a handwritten list by now that he updated every time Tony did something stupid. Tony wanted to pout. He’d fully intended to corner Steve so that he could attempt a half-hearted apology using his eyes to convey his sadness and then Steve had ruined it all by walking out with Natasha. He had vanished, leaving Tony alone with Clint and Coulson in the Medical Bay. They had been given orders to not move an inch. Tony just wanted to go home.

The one piece of good news was that Bruce was in the process of building Tony a collar that would keep him in contact with the crystal at all times. Tony would be able to speak soon and then…

Then he could return to his standoffish silence with Steve and his anxiety attacks from being trapped as an animal. Oh god, he wouldn’t even be able to open _doors_ – how the hell was he supposed to live like this? Oh god – he couldn’t even go to the _bathroom_ in his own bathroom anymore! He buried his snout under his paws and whined. Clint ruffled his neck fur and patted him on the head.

“Cheer up. We can totally go get a burger after all this is done. You still like bacon, right?” Clint said, sitting down on the floor next to him. He had taken refuge beside the archer once the devil assistant had finished taking oral swabs to get his D.N.A. Tony gave him a dirty look and then realized that the expression probably didn’t come across the same way in dog. He looked back at the floor, unhappy, and went back to trying to fix his problems.

Loki had called the crystal ‘The Crystal of Change’ back in the mine. Maybe this would be something that Thor’s people would know about… but Thor hadn’t seemed to recognize the crystal by name, and he’d made it clear several times that Loki had been the ‘reader of tomes’ in the family, so it was probably a long shot at best to hope for any information from him. He doubted that Loki was going to lend him a hand either, especially after the damned thing had been accidentally used on him when it had been intended for other purposes. Loki loved his pranks. He would probably get a kick out of seeing Tony as a dog anyways. He’d probably just laugh in Tony’s face; assuming that Tony could get anywhere near his face that was.

What else was there to do? He should probably change his will so that someone would be able to take Stark International over if he died. Of course he’d already made sure that Pepper had authority and full power, but he’d have to deed out the Avengers’ mansion and all the other little things he kept in his house… His cars would probably enjoy new homes without him. Rhodey would probably like the Ferrari. Wait – what was he doing? He wasn’t dead, he was just a _dog_. He could deal with this; it wasn’t the end of the world. He could do it – he’d had to live for years dealing with Howard’s drunken rants and his heavy fists. He’d fought off the feelings of helplessness then and he could do it now. He could deal with this.

Clint began to wiggle Tony’s ears with his hands, tugging at the corners so that they seemed to flap; he was oblivious to Tony’s internal ramblings, which was probably a good thing, because there were some pretty weird things in Tony’s head to begin with. Tony sighed and closed his eyes. Great. Now that he thought about it, he’d have quite a few other problems to deal with. He wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without someone unless he wanted to end up in an animal shelter. That would be traumatizing. He would probably have to be on a leash at all times outside – oh GOD. Fury was going to have the world’s first happiness induced stroke. Tony Stark. On a leash.

“Tony?”

Tony opened his eyes and looked up to see Bruce leaning down over his head. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even heard Bruce approaching. Bruce looked nervously calm as usual, as if he’d been knocking back one too many green teas and wasn’t quite coming off of his caffeine high. Tony had to resist the urge jump up and stick his wet nose in Bruce’s face on impulse. Bruce gestured with the collar, clearing his throat.

“Can you sit up so I can put it on?” Bruce asked, kneeling down.

Tony sat up, giving Bruce space so that the beige leather collar (complete with handy glass protection for the embedded crystal) could be fastened around his neck. Bruce ran his fingers underneath the collar to check to make sure he’d left enough room; he was pleased when he saw that it wouldn’t end up choking Tony. Bruce then stood back up, running his fingers through his hair and cleared his throat.

“So I uh… took the liberty making it Iron Man red and putting a nameplate on it so you... have your name and stuff. Steve suggested the address of the mansion too, so that’s engraved in there too underneath your name. I encased the crystal in unbreakable polymer so that if you get hit with something it won’t actually take damage. Thor was pretty specific about the whole not breaking it part.” Bruce said.

“Great.” Tony said with a grumble, wanting nothing more than to get some peace and quiet so that he could think properly. His ears perked up at the sound of his own voice and he moved from laying down to standing in a split second, eyes widening.

“Sweet Jesus it’s good to hear my own voice again! Thank you Bruce! I owe you a new lab.” Tony cackled, turning around in a circle as his tail wagged behind him.

“Thanks a lot Bruce.” Clint grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Now he’s never going to shut up again. You just watch.”

Tony stood up on his hind legs and pushed his face into Clint’s. He intended to glare. He really did. Unfortunately his new body didn’t seem to be able to glare, and instead he ended up with a goofy grin on his face instead when his mouth dropped open of its own accord, tongue lolling.

“Deal with it Barton.” Tony breathed out. Clint’s nose wrinkled at the dog breath.

“Right…” Bruce cleared his throat and shifted a little in place.

“So um, the doctors told me to tell you that you’re pure bred American Eskimo or something – some kind of Spitz breed. You’re about nineteen inches tall and 30 ish pounds, meaning that you’re kind of considered the standard size of the breed. You have fluffy white fur, black rimmed brown eyes, and a black nose. I’d show you a mirror, but well… I don’t really carry one around.” Bruce said.

“You sound like you rehearsed that.” Tony said, still gleeful despite Bruce.

“Steve asked me to look it all up for him on the SHIELD databases. They said that your breed of dog is supposed to be really smart and were once used in the circus as a performer. Steve told me to tell you that he and Natasha went out to go buy some stuff and that they’ll be back as soon as they can.” Bruce recited one hand in his pocket. He pulled out his phone, looking at it suspiciously and then put it back, scratching the hair on the back of his neck.

“I guess we’re waiting for them before we go home.” Bruce said.

Tony jumped away from Clint, who kept eyeballing him strangely for some reason and crashed head first into Bruce’s legs; Tony didn’t know why he did it. He was just so blissfully happy to know that they would be leaving. Bruce teetered and managed to stay upright by grabbing a hold of the nearest chair, which wheeled him away a few inches and left him hanging precariously. Bruce looked at Tony, his right eye twitching, and then relaxed when Tony stared up at him with his warm brown puppy dog eyes.

“What’s wrong Stark? Want to go for walkies?” Clint grinned.

“Fuck yes – “Tony hopped up again and then realized what he’d done. He tried to sit as dignifiedly as possible, glowering as Clint began to bray with laughter. The archer wiped tears from his eyes and snorted when he caught sight of Tony’s ‘dignified’ pose.

“I mean yes, I would like to go for a walk now. Home. Now. You know what I mean so just shut it.” Tony grumbled.

“Whatever man.” Clint laughed again. He stood up and then leaned down and patted his thighs, making little kissy noises.

“Walkies? Stark want to go for walkies?”

Tony promptly jumped up and bit him on the nose.

Clint swore and wiped his face, giving Tony the stink eye. He paused a little, as if debating on a few different ways to get revenge and then smiled at Tony and bent down again, picking him up. Tony didn’t even have time to dart away. He was soon flailing in the air as Clint spun them both around in circles cackling again. He caught sight of Bruce smirking every time he spun around.

“Nooooooo!” Tony howled as they spun.

 

“Clint – put Tony down. He’s going to barf if you keep doing that.” Steve said, appearing in the doorway. He was flanked by Natasha, who looked distinctly bored. Both of them were carrying thick plastic shopping bags that were heavy and overflowing with goods. The plastic handles were stretched and straining, likely to break. Clint grumbled to himself when Steve gave him a disapproving look, and put Tony down reluctantly. Tony did the first thing he thought of. He charged at Steve and bounced on his back feet, leaping in place while his front feet swung out in front of him. Steve. His savior.

“Steve!”

It took Tony a moment to realize that he hadn’t exactly meant to say this aloud and that he’d only meant it to be an internal thought at best. Steve looked down at him suspiciously; because his hands were full, didn’t bother to push Tony away.

“Tony. No. Stay down.” Steve muttered. He set one of the bags down and Tony was instantly buried up to his neck in it; choking himself in the process. He stared curiously into the plastic bag, wondering just what had taken Steve so long to get back. Tony managed to see a few large bags of kibble and dog treats, to his disappointment, before he was yanked unceremoniously away from the bags by one of Steve’s giant hands.

He whined. He realized he had whined and then remembered that he could now verbally complain.

“Hey – what’s with all the dog food? You expect me to eat that crap?”

Steve rolled his eyes, arms crossed over his broad chest. He had changed into street clothes when they had gone out, as had Natasha. Steve looked comfortable in a much too tight white t-shirt and faded jeans. Tony wasn’t used to seeing him so relaxed. Whenever they were around one another Steve had a very stern and stressed look on his face. He had to restrain himself to keep from commenting on how very nice Steve’s muscles looked and how he wanted to sink his teeth into the fabric to tear it off of him. The naughty thoughts of Steve were new to him; he tried not to blush at the thought of explaining himself. Natasha raised an eyebrow, as if having read Tony’s mind from a distance.

“We can’t exactly feed you people food now you know. It’s not healthy for your digestion.” Steve explained. He seemed pleased by this fact, and his lips curled up at the corners a little. When he saw that Tony was now attempting to slowly back away, ears pressed flat against his head, he let out a long weary sigh. Steve reached into the bag and pulled out a beige leash and harness. He held the harness in one hand and the leash in the other. The metal clip on the end of it flashed in the artificial light. A determined look replaced the weariness when he moved with the leash towards Tony.

“Come here Tony.”

“Oh no. You do not get to put me in that – I am a grown man – you do not – Steve. No. No Steve.” Tony babbled, backing into Clint’s legs. Clint seized him from behind and held him still, the traitor. Tony was manhandled into the harness which was then attached quickly to the leash before he could bite anyone. He was set down on the floor again and patted on the head by Clint; Tony attempted to nip at him in frustration and missed when Clint jerked his hands away. Tony struggled against the leash, trying to pull the damn thing out of Steve’s hand but found that, surprise, surprise, he found that he couldn’t move a super soldier anywhere he didn’t want to go. Tony dropped himself into his belly and became dead weight, paws splayed out starfish style on the floor.

“Tony.” Steve grumbled in exasperation, tugging at the leash gently. He looked down at Tony, scowling; he rolled his eyes when he saw that Tony was refusing to make eye contact with anyone, eyes squeezed shut.

“Come on – it isn’t so bad. It’s just until we’re back at the mansion and whenever we’re outside. There are laws you know, about dogs not being allowed off leash outside.”

“I’m not a dog Steve. I may look like it, but I’m not a dog. I do not need to be on a leash.” Tony growled, pressing himself closer to the floor.

Steve’s hands went to his hips.

“Tony. We are going home now. Do you want to walk, or am I going to have to drag you? I am not going to carry you.”

“Go ahead Steve. Drag me.” Tony growled, daring Steve to do it.

“Fine.”

 

Tony was dragged rudely through the SHIELD hallways while Steve led the way. Clint and Natasha followed along behind them lugging the bags from the pet store while Bruce and Thor trailed behind them, muttering to one another. The four of them looked as if they were retainers being forced to carry a princess’s wardrobe around with her. Tony tried to imagine that it was Steve who was the princess in the current situation, but knew bitterly that it was probably him. He didn’t say anything to Steve the entire time. Tony’s soft body was especially slippery, and he slid across the polished cement floors with little resistance, to his immense disappointment. He had no grip, even when he tried to force his body stiff. He was distinctly aware of how Dummy had felt when he’d tried to pull Steve around; he’d have to give Dummy some better wheels when he turned back.

Tony knew he looked undignified. He knew that he looked childish. He didn’t care. He was making a metaphorical stand. He could hear the SHIELD agents making ‘aww’ noises and heard them snickering as he was tugged across the threshold of the front door and out into daylight.

He reluctantly gave up the ghost once he realized that he would be suffering serious road rash if he let Steve drag him across cement. He walked alongside Steve and they weaved their way through the crowds to a familiar mini-van. He could see Happy waiting for them in the driver’s seat and recognized this vehicle as the one Steve liked the best. Tony was so happy to see Happy that he practically jumped up and down upon catching sight of him through the side window. Happy didn’t seem as interested as Tony was, however. It was a little disappointing. He debated on telling Happy off; he was distracted when Steve opened the car door and tugged on his leash, trying to encourage Tony to jump inside. Happy remained fairly deadpan; he didn’t comment about Steve bringing a pet into the newly cleaned leather interior of his mini-van, although Tony could tell that Happy probably wanted to.

Tony tried his best to glower at Steve; he found it relatively impossible because of his furry eyebrows only seemed to know ‘cute’ and ‘concern’. Steve’s hands went back to their default position on his hips and he watched Tony patiently while Tony decided whether or not he was going to allow himself to jump up. This, however, was not a battle Tony was going to win with sheer stubbornness– especially when the other people waiting on his decision had hands where he had paws.

“Oh for god’s sake Stark!” Clint grumbled, “You’re such a brat.” He stuffed the bag he was holding into Thor’s hands and hoisted Tony up into the car, scrambling inside behind him. Tony wailed in frustration, trying to turn to nip at Clint’s ear; Clint flicked him in the nose and Tony went still, glowering once more. The leash dropped from Steve’s hands and trailed behind Clint like a tail as he settled Tony into his lap, seated against the window. The others followed Clint’s example, piling into the mini-van and soon they were seat belted in and driving home.

Tony was simultaneously relieved and frustrated. He wanted to disappear inside his workshop so that he could be free of all the poking and prodding; he knew he wasn’t likely to be allowed back inside without supervision, if at all. He whined at the realization, realized that he had whined aloud and then tried to once more glare at everyone in the vehicle as punishment for making him whine. When that didn’t work, he went back to internally pouting, glad that no one could tell.

Tony stood up on Clint’s lap and pressed his front paws against the glass, peering out at the free world beyond. Clint reached up and lowered the window a crack. Tony’s nose immediately picked up strange, new, smells. He caught a whiff of bacon and found himself almost drooling, stomach growling. He hadn’t eaten in hours, and his last coffee had been hours even before that. He strained to try and reach the open part of the window, wanting to squeeze his way out and then slid down the glass with a squeal of paws against glass. He watched the cars go by for a few seconds and then he was yet again pushed down by one of Steve’s hands. He heard another ‘Tony! No!’ and then found himself being smooshed into Clint’s stomach as the car braked suddenly; he nearly dislodged from the archer’s lap to rocket across the interior of the vehicle as gravity caught up with him.

Steve looked concerned then. His lips pursed with a frown and his arms crossed as he leaned forwards between the driver’s seat and passengers.

“Happy, could you drive a little slower please? Tony’s not wearing a seatbelt.” Steve asked, leaning back.

Happy raised an eyebrow and glanced around the car. Not spotting anything vaguely resembling Tony, he shrugged and began to drive again.

“Tony’s the dog by the way.” Clint said, grinning.

The car screeched to a halt. Clint just barely kept hold of Tony this time. His fingers dug in to Tony’s flesh a little, but Tony didn’t mind so much seeing as how it had kept him from smearing himself across the windshield.

Happy whirled around again and stared at the white dog on Clint’s lap.

“Boss?!”

“Yeah Hap?”

“Jesus – what the hell did you get into now?”

“Just drive Hap. We’ll explain at home…” Tony sighed.

“Pepper’s not going to be happy…” Happy grumbled.

“You’re telling me.”

The car resumed driving, with Happy going considerably slower than before. Happy even started called out whenever they were turning; Clint gripped Tony tighter whenever it happened. It was strangely comforting to be squished and held this way. Clint’s body was warm and oddly firm. He’d never really noticed before; he never really hugged anyone other than Rhodey or Pepper. Tony wondered what it would be like to get a hug from Clint – not that he’d wanted to be hugged by anyone (he did, but would never admit it).

No sense going down that path. That way lead to madness – he was not going to try to be cuddled by people. Definitely. Probably not. Maybe.

 

 

Pepper was a wonderful person, Tony reflected as he sat with his snout pressed against her breasts, and he really should give her another raise. She smelled like clover and cinnamon today; he’d never smelled her like this before and it was a little strange to tell the truth, but still lovely. He breathed Pepper’s smell in, feeling comforted by the mere proximity of her. She had her arms wrapped around him so tightly he was almost unable to breathe. Almost. He still managed to get in little sniffs of cinnamon every once in a while to his delight.

They were sitting on the Ugly Couch (as he had named it) in the living room by themselves, having been given privacy after Steve had explained the situation to Pepper. Tony had watched Steve’s face as he had broken the news to her. Steve had looked as if he were reporting a death on the field, all clinical and grim. Tony wasn’t sure how he would have phrased it if in Steve’s position. Pepper had looked as if she had been just told that she was giving birth to quadruplets in the next ten minutes with no epidural.

“Oh Tony…” Pepper said, close to tears. Tony didn’t look up, feeling as miserable as she did despite the comforting hold she had on him.

“I know Pep, but it’s not like its forever…”

“You don’t know that! Why the hell do you always rush into things without thinking?” Pepper said, trying to bite back the anguish in her voice.

“You have to admit I’m still my same cute self though.” Tony said, wiggling in her grasp. He tried to charm her into smiling; he rubbed his wet nose against her chin and she sniffled a little, wiping away her damp eyes. She smoothed down the fur around Tony’s face and looked him in the eye.

“You’ve always been cute Tony. That’s part of your problem. I just don’t understand how this is going to work out for us; for the company. You have three board meetings this week alone – and I need you to sign papers! How the hell are you supposed to do that with no HANDS?” She said. “I can’t exactly submit them with paw prints you know. I’m pretty sure they have rules about that.”

“We’ll think of something Pep – Hey wait, you can just take over for me as CEO again while I’m stuck like this! I’ve still got those papers signed from last time – I made doubles just in case something happened and well… You can handle most of it, right? I mean, I feel shitty dropping this all on you but…” Tony huffed.

“Can’t exactly waltz into the board room and stand on the table and bark at them. I mean I could, they would be able to hear my real voice, but come on – I highly doubt it’d be legal and I don’t really want to be banished to the corporate, no pun intended, Doghouse by trying. They’d take over and we’d be making bombs again before lunch. Possibly by their mid-morning bagel even.”

Pepper leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling; she blew her bangs out of her face. Tony pressed himself against her chest again and closed his eyes, sighing softly.

“I know, I know.” Pepper said. She reached up and began to stroke his head again, the movements long and gentle. Her hands always had been soft. He was grateful for that now more than ever.

“How long is this supposed to last?”

“Fucked if I know.”

“Tony!”

“Well I don’t _know_ – it’s not as if the damn thing came with an instruction manual or a timer. Would have been handy if it did. Jarvis – make a note of telling the creators of magical cursed objects to always make manuals and watches to be included with every cursed object.” Tony said.

Jarvis sighed, the sound echoing through the interior of the entire house. He didn’t remember programming Jarvis to sigh. Maybe he was learning.

“Noted sir. Do you require anything else?”

“Yeah – start looking for ways to set the house up to be dog friendly – you know, like how they make ropes and buttons that service dogs can use or something. I have no intention of being stuck in my own living room forever.” Tony grumbled.

“Master Rogers has already taken the initiative and begun preparing the house sir. He has informed me that I am in no way allowed to help you open doors on your own. You are to be supervised at all times sir.” Jarvis said.

Tony stiffened. Pepper’s hands clamped onto his middle and held him still as he started to stand, hackles rising.

“That bastard!”

“Tony. You should listen to Steve. He’s only got your best interest at heart.” Pepper said softly.

Tony sighed and flattened against her chest again.

“Yeah… I’m sure he does.” He said sarcastically. “He’s been waiting for something like this ever since we met.”

Pepper smacked him lightly atop the head.

“He has not. He’s just worried about you. He thinks that you’re not taking this seriously.”

Tony looked up at her, raising one furry eyebrow.

“And you know this because…?” He asked, resting a paw on her shoulder.

“Because he’s _always_ concerned that you’re not taking things seriously. And what does it matter? You can’t go outside on your own – what if someone takes you to the pound or something? Kidnapping could be so much easier if they found out who you really were. Oh god – we don’t have you tagged or registered! Not to mention you don’t have a tracking chip – oh Tony…” Pepper groaned, head flopping back against the couch.

“You always make things so complicated!”

“If you try to get me neutered, I’ll poop in your most expensive shoes Pepper. I swear it.” Tony threatened.

Pepper laughed and shook her head.

“Only you would think of something like that.”

“I’m sure Steve’s thought about it too…” Tony said darkly. He winced when Pepper playfully swatted him again.

“He has _not_. I’m sure Jarvis would have said something if he started researching something like that. If he even knows what neutering is – I don’t think Steve’s ever had a pet before actually.” Pepper said.

“If I may interject sir, Master Rogers has been searching many dog training sites and has been especially concerned about your dietary requirements and the health problems associated with your particular breed. He was especially concerned about food allergies for dogs. He has also asked me to create a schedule so that you will have proper physical exercise and planned out meals. I believe he intends to take good care of you sir. If that is any consolation…” Jarvis said.

“Well that’s just dandy.” Tony groaned. “Now I’m going to have to go on those godforsaken runs with him in the morning. Pep? Save me? Take me home with you? You can smuggle me out in your purse right?”

“I’m not smuggling you out of the mansion Tony. Besides, you’re much too large to fit in any of my purses. I’d have to use a duffle bag, and then with our luck some reporter would think that I’d dismembered you and was disposing of your body. It’s far too much hassle.”

“You seem to have thought that out a little more than I’m comfortable with…” Tony said with a grumble.

“Well we’ve all had our share of wanting to kill our bosses Tony. I’m sure you know the feeling.” Pepper said with a smile.

Strangely enough, Tony knew exactly what she meant.

 

 

Tony stared at the kibble in his new, shiny, beige bowl. He guessed that his bowl looked red to humans; most of his beige things seemed to be this same shade of beige which he now associated with Iron Man red. He assumed that this was some kind of attempt at regularity on Steve’s part. This revelation, however, did not make the kibble in the bowl look any more appetizing. Nor did it improve the bouquet that wafted from it. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. It had been two days since Tony’s transformation and he hadn’t eaten _anything_ Steve had put out for him. There was a faint odor of fish oil to top off the dry kibble smell. Steve had read on the internet somewhere that fish oil was necessary for a ‘silky coat’ and a healthy body. Tony didn’t really understand the reason for the oil, seeing as how Steve didn’t really seem to want to touch him; Clint, Natasha and Thor didn’t really have a problem with picking him up and using him like a lap warmer when they watched television. Even Bruce had picked him up and carried him around the house a few times already. Steve had adamantly refused to so much as touch Tony when it wasn’t required.

Tony looked up at Steve, trying to catch his attention. Clint and Steve were sitting at the table eating Chinese takeout; delicious, delicious takeout. Tony began to beg for all he was worth. He was starving. He was used to not eating for days, but it had never been because he _couldn’t_ eat. The takeout containers sat near the edge of the table, taunting him from up above. He could smell sweet and sour pork and the tantalizing odor of pineapple chicken and found himself close to drooling. Begging was pathetic, he knew, but it would be better to get a mouthful of stolen rice noodles than to get a mouthful of the garbage Steve was trying to feed him.

“Please?” Tony tried. He wagged his tail a little and stared at Steve, who frowned at him and went back to eating; he completely dismissed Tony’s watery brown puppy dog eyes, the heartless bastard. Tony turned his attention to Clint, who was unable to look away once Tony’s eyes met his.

“Clint? Please? Food?”

Clint’s arm moved on auto-pilot, a fork full of delicious black bean coated beef descending toward Tony’s open mouth. Clint looked hypnotized, eyes wide and slightly glazed over. Black bean sauce was smeared around his lips, forgotten.

“Clint!” Steve snapped, reaching out and grabbing the piece of meat just as it slipped from the fork.

“We have a rule, remember? No people food for Tony. It’s not good for him.”

“But –“ Clint began.

“But Steveeee – “ Tony whined, pawing at Steve’s leg. “I’m really hungry!”

Steve pointed sternly at the kibble bowl. “You have your food Tony. It’s healthy and nutritious and just what you need. You’ll get all gassy if you eat people food – “ Steve went a little red at that and then put the piece of meat onto one of the take out container’s abandoned lids, reluctant to waste food even after it had come off of Clint’s fork.

“I’m not going to eat that. It smells awful.” Tony protested, standing up to rest his chin against Clint’s leg. Clint’s fork hand moved towards his food again and Tony leaned closer, looking up at Clint. Clint looked away when he noticed that Steve was frowning at him. He shook his leg and dislodged Tony, who slid off his knee. Tony stood up on his hind legs and stared deeply into the archer’s eyes.

“Come on Clint. You know you want to.” Tony said, grinning.

“Tony. No.”

Steve took the plate away from Clint; Clint pouted. He set the plate down beside his own, guarding it like a lion with its kill.

“You can have your plate back once Tony leaves.” Steve said sternly, addressing Clint only.

Tony was staggered. He dropped down from Clint’s leg and fixed his eyes on Steve’s, furious.

“You do realize that I pay for everything in this house, right?” Tony growled, going dangerously quiet.

Steve didn’t budge from his position.

“I know that Tony, but you’re still not going to eat people food. You have your food. Eat it, or don’t eat it. It’s your choice.” Steve said. He glared at Clint, who shuffled in his seat and tried to avoid eye contact again. “And I’d better not catch anyone on the team feeding him people food – He gets his dog treats and dog food only.”

Tony turned and backed up, his mind working on its own; he was half starved and desperate, just on the edges of desperation. He lunged and threw himself up at the table, snapping at the takeout box sitting nearest the edge before Steve could even look at him. Fate was on his side. Tony managed to snag the container in his jaws and then all hell broke loose.

Steve leapt from his seat and Tony ran, screaming around the corner of the kitchen, takeout container clenched tightly between his teeth. He heard the sound of a chair clattering onto the ground, avoided Thor, who had stepped into the room upon smelling the takeout and then took off into the living room with Steve hot on his heels.

Tony ran. He ran past the couch, past the television which was blaring with one of Thor’s cartoons, zigzagging around Natasha who was just stepping into the room from the other side. Tony ran as fast as his little legs would carry him, ran so fast, in fact, that he didn’t actually have time to break when he made it to the sliding glass door in the living room. The door seemed invisible. He hit the glass at full speed; he bounced off the glass with a loud crack, white flashing in front of his eyes and rolled backwards. The takeout container dropped uselessly from his mouth as he collapsed, contents spilling all over the carpet, staining it a bright red. Tony whimpered and tried to stand. The room spun uncomfortably. He felt sick and lowered his snout.

He heard Steve’s voice as if it was from very far away and then collapsed onto the carpet, seeing and smelling the coppery smell of blood. He looked up weakly as Steve dropped to his knees beside him, horror painted across his face.

“Tony!” Steve shouted, scooping him up. Tony blinked unfocusedly at Steve, seeing two of him instead of the normal singular Steve. That probably wasn’t good…

“Steve? My head hurts…” Tony managed to get out before he passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony woke up in the hospital. He _hated_ the hospital. He raised his head and looked around, wincing as the movement jarred his brain against his skull. He squinted, panicking for a moment as he realized he couldn’t see anything except for a transparent white plastic wall that seemed to be everywhere he looked. He tilted his head down and found that he could see clearly in that position. He felt his stomach roll and gagged, tasting blood. He was lying on a soft grey towel that smelled vaguely of Steve and shampoo. He sniffed at it, trying to clear his head by focusing on the soft fabric instead of on the bright lights flickering above him. There was an oddly antiseptic smell to the air here too. Somewhere in the distance a clock ticked, the sounds so loud that he wanted to cover his ears. He could hear faint sound of barking and meowing in the distance and understood the fear in their plaintive tones.

Oh god… he wasn’t in the hospital.

He was in the veterinarian’s office!

He sniffed tentatively and picked up the smell of urine and irrational panic coming from another room. Tony was alone on the blanket, eyes wide with fear, alone and terrified. He wanted Steve. Steve would take him away from here -

“Steve!” Tony shouted, wincing as pain shot through his head. His voice was hoarse and his mouth felt as if he’d been eating playground turf. He felt firm hands grab him from behind and found himself lifted up into the air and settled onto a warm lap a few feet away. He recognized Steve by scent only, not trusting himself to look up for fear of throwing up all over his lap. He sniffed at Steve as he leaned against his warm chest; Tony was disappointed when his face pressed not against Steve’s warm stomach, but against the plastic cone wrapped around his neck.

Oh god… The Cone of Shame! The bastards had put The Cone of Shame on him!

He struggled to shake his head, wanting to rip the plastic off and hurl it across the room. He managed only a brief, wobbly movement before firm hands began to stroke his back. His head throbbed, contracting and expanding with each breath he took.

“Hey… Shhh… It’s ok Tony. It’s ok. Just settle down.” Steve’s voice was soothing and soft. Tony whimpered involuntarily as his head connected with the cone and Steve’s chest again.

“They had to stitch you up. You split your head open on the sliding glass door. Do you remember that? They think you might have a concussion.” Steve said.

“I want to go home. I don’t like it here. It smells like pee and fear.” Tony whispered, sure that the veterinarian would hear and swoop down to hurt him; he knew that it was completely irrational to even think that way, but a small part of himself kept supplying horrible images every time he closed his eyes. He flinched when Steve began to pet his fur again and then leaned heavily against Steve, closing his eyes.

“I know Tony. It’s alright now. They had to put you under, but you don’t have to spend the night. We’ll go home in a little bit, we just need to wait for the vet to come back with your x-ray, ok?”

Steve’s voice cracked. Tony craned his neck to look up at him, peering up around the sides of the plastic cone. Steve’s eyes were red rimmed and tired looking. He had blood on his cheek that had dried there; it was probably Tony’s. He looked just as uncomfortable and weary as Tony felt. One of Steve’s arms curled around Tony, holding him snuggly in place against his chest. His free hand reached down and stroked the long line of Tony’s snout. Tony licked at Steve’s hand, earning a soft scowl; Steve seemed to brighten up considerably after that. He sighed aloud and shook his head.

“Tony… Why the hell did you do that? You scared the shit out of me.” He said. The explicative was strange to hear coming from Steve. Steve rarely swore, even when it was necessary, and often told people off for words like ‘shit’. Steve also sounded hurt; as if Tony had did something particularly cruel to him. Maybe he had.

Tony shrugged; well, he attempted to shrug, it came across as a heaving of his shoulders. Steve’s grip tightened, his hands stroking Tony’s shoulders to comfort him.

“I don’t know. I just… I was hungry…” Tony looked down at his paws, feeling ashamed by his behavior. He hadn’t expected to hit that sliding glass door – he’d meant it as a friendly prank. He really _had_ been hungry, and he knew how irrational he became when he hadn’t been eating. He’d been reckless and uncontrollable and he was deeply ashamed that he’d made Steve look so miserable. When he looked up at Steve again, he opened his mouth, wanting to explain himself he found that Steve was no longer making eye contact with him. He lowered his gaze again and stared at the broad expanse of Steve’s chest. He breathed in, smelling the soft scent of soap and old spice that was Steve, and shivered a little as his absurd terror was chased away. His chest ached; he was sure it wasn’t because of the head injury. This was longing. Steve felt so safe and it felt so wrong to have scared him. Tony squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push the feelings away.

Tony drifted in and out of consciousness, half falling asleep; he woke up in a panic every time, spending a few seconds shaking until he remembered where he was and that he was with Steve. Steve’s firm hand remained on his back, his other hand joining it on his back to make it a semi-hug, holding him close.

The door to the vet’s office opened with a click and a short stocky woman wearing hospital scrubs with little pink and blue cats on it entered holding up an x-ray. She stuck it on the light board attached to the wall beside Steve; she tisked, drumming her index finger on her chapped looking lips inspecting the x-ray carefully.

Steve watched her nervously, body tensing in anticipation of bad news.

“Well Mr. Rogers, your little friend is lucky he didn’t scramble his brains on that door. There doesn’t appear to be anything to worry about with his skull – nothing appears broken, and there isn’t any swelling. He took a bit of a bump, but he’ll be alright.” She said.

She reached out and stroked Tony’s ears.

“He’ll have to wear the cone for a few days so he doesn’t scratch at the stitches while they heal, and you’ll have to give him a pill twice a day for a week. You told the nurse that this is the first time you’ve had a dog before. Do you know how to give pills?” She asked kindly, smiling at Steve. Steve shook his head, face flushing.

“Well,” the vet said, pulling a bag that said pill pockets from the pile of samples lying on the counter beside her. “You’re lucky that you’ve got a dog. They’re easier to trick into taking medicine.” She winked, smiling at Tony, who was tempted to growl at her on principal. She opened the bag and held up a little green dog cookie that resembled a tube shaped doughnut.

“You just need to slip the pill in here and give it to him as if it’s a treat. Most dogs will just eat it and not even realize that they’re being pilled. If, however, you find that your little furry friend is especially picky about what he eats, you might have to coat it in peanut butter or something else he likes and get him to eat it that way instead. They usually get suspicious if they can taste the pill and they’ll stop eating them, so be careful. We’ll give you the beef flavoured ones so that they go down a little easier, and see what happens. We gave him his heartworm injections and updated his rabies vaccine since you don’t think he’s had one, and you can schedule for a checkup in a few weeks to take out his stitches. If you’re concerned about his condition at all please bring him back right away. Do you have any questions?” She asked.

“What kind of pills are you giving him?” Steve asked.

“They’re just some standard aspirin for dogs for the pain, its nothing to be concerned about. Oh, before I forget – Did you want to schedule a neutering for him? I see that he’s intact and that might be problematic in the long run if he’s not dog friendly– it will reduce aggression and calm him down if you do choose to neuter him. The procedure won’t hurt him at all.” The vet asked. She reached out to pet Tony again and he snapped at her, eyes wild.

Steve steadied Tony with one hand on the flat of his back and smiled apologetically at the woman.

“Sorry, sometimes I think he understands everything he hears.” He said, laughing nervously. Tony glared at the vet, eyes narrowed. Steve’s hand found purchase on his back; he dug his fingers in, squeezed him a little as he pushed Tony down into his lap.

The vet merely smiled and patted Steve on the arm sympathetically.

“Don’t worry about it. Lots of pets get nervous when they’re in the animal hospital. It’s particularly stressful when an animal is in pain. They are pretty good with picking up people’s moods too, so try not to be too worried about him or he’ll get concerned too. He’ll be alright.” She smiled at him.

Steve smiled meekly back.

“So, did you want to schedule that neutering?” She asked.

Steve shook his head rapidly.

“No! – No it’s fine. He’s well behaved most of the time. He’s good- I wouldn’t want to uh… take anything away from him.” Steve said, swallowing hard. He looked down at Tony, a little sheepish, his cheeks turning a soft pink. Relief flooded Tony’s mind. Tony stretched upwards and booped Steve in the chin with his wet nose, grateful for Steve’s kindness. Steve smiled softly down at him. It was probably the first time since they had known each other that Steve had ever smiled at Tony that way. Tony felt humbled.

“Well alright then. You can go out into the waiting room and one of the assistants will call you when the prescription is ready. You have a nice day Mr. Rogers, and take care of your little friend. He’s lucky to have you.” The vet said. She slipped out the door behind Steve after retrieving the x-ray from the light board and vanished from sight.

Steve let out a held in sigh. He stood up, cradling Tony in his arms and grabbed the towel from the examination table near them, tucking it under his arm. He carried Tony, shifting him to one side as he opened the door and walked them out of the room and into the reception area.

Clint jumped up from a green plastic bench across the room from them. The archer rubbed at his back, face pale and concerned. Natasha remained sitting on the bench, looking down a dog-eared magazine. Bruce was wandering with Thor in the store part of the office, looking at the various treats and toys the vet office had to offer. Both looked as if they were in a trance, mesmerized by the plastic balls and rope toys. They came closer when they noticed Steve.

“How is he?” Clint asked, attempting nonchalance, and failing miserably.

Steve hugged Tony tighter to his chest for a split second and then held him out to Clint; Clint took Tony out of Steve’s hands with relief in his eyes. Tony let out a sigh and rested his head against Clint’s chest, disappointed at having been pawned off by Steve so quickly. He’d enjoyed being held by him. It had been nice. He’d almost forgotten about the stitches in his head when Steve’s hands had been on him. The pain in his head was still there, but it was more of a dull buzz now rather than a sharp pain like it had been before.

“He has pills he has to take for the pain and he’ll have to wear the cone for a few days to make sure he doesn’t pull out his stitches.” Steve said, sighing. Clint grinned sympathetically down at Tony.

“Sorry man – ouch. Cone of Shame and everything. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”

Steve flashed Clint a warning look; Clint cleared his throat, backing up so that he was sitting down once more on the uncomfortable bench. Steve handed him the towel and Clint tucked it around Tony’s body, wrapping him up like a sausage.

“Sorry. I guess I shouldn’t be having a conversation with you since you can’t talk.” Clint said. He cast a glance around the waiting room and pointed out a few other people with a nod of his chin in their direction. Tony was tempted to speak up just to freak out the patchy looking man sitting a few seats over with a large old looking parrot sitting morosely on his shoulder and then decided against it. He’d pissed Steve off enough for the day. Enough for the year even.

He settled down in Clint’s lap, the warmth of the towel and Clint’s thighs seeping into his body causing his eyelids to droop. He fell asleep listening to Steve chat with the receptionist, wishing that he was her.

 

 

Tony woke with the world’s worst non-hangover related headache. He groaned and rolled over, catching the plastic cone on the soft blanket beneath him; his stitches pulled a little. They didn’t hurt, but they were uncomfortable. The blanket hung off of his head and for a moment he was swallowed up by darkness. He didn’t panic this time. He felt Steve gently pull the blanket away from his cone and lay there relaxed, eyes half lidded as he waited for the light to hit him again. Clint’s leg was a few inches away, tapping to out a staccato rhythm on the floor. Tony stretched out with his feet and pressed them against Clint’s thigh, yawning.

Steve’s face was grim when it appeared above the circle of the cone.

“Tony, be careful. You shouldn’t even really be on the couch.” Steve harped, grumbling to himself. Clint reached out and scratched Tony’s belly, eyes still focused intently on the television. Tony had been on pain medication for two or three days now, probably (he wasn’t really sure as most of the days passed the exact same way), and he felt like he’d been living in a cloud even though it was just dog aspirin. His thoughts and actions kept getting muddled, often resulting in a strange, dopey stare directed at people who walked too close to him. The upside to his drug addled state was that everyone on the team was being very gentle with him and he’d been getting away with things he wouldn’t normally get away with.

Being on the couch was one of those things. He had been allowed to sleep lying on the couch as long as there was a blanket underneath him because Steve was afraid of hair getting on the couch. Tony liked it on the couch. It was softer than the floor, and he could get all the belly scratches he wanted if he positioned himself close enough to Clint, who apparently didn’t realize that he was doing it. Tony knew that he should feels vaguely guilty about this, but he didn’t care, really. He’d take belly scratches over guilt any day. He had felt worn out and depressed the first day back from the vet; it had eaten at him when he’d realized that he was even worse off than he’d been before. He’d take his comfort where he could get it, and if it meant sucking up to Clint and his magic fingers.

Steve was positioned on the opposite side of the couch from Clint, leaning against the arm rest with one arm draped across the back of their god awful paisley couch. This was the first couch that Bruce befouled while in one of his Hulk moments; Steve had taken it upon himself to have it reupholstered instead of having it thrown out like Tony had suggested. Steve was a long standing member of the ‘it’s still good! Why would we throw out something that’s still good?’ club, and had brow beaten Tony into letting him keep it. Tony had begrudgingly allowed the couch to remain, but couldn’t for the life of him explain properly Steve that it really shouldn’t have been changed from the nice pale blue to the fuck ugly paisley it was now. Not that how it looked really affected how it felt; the couch was quite comfortable, as it had been that way ever since the day he’d ordered it from the store. Tony appreciated the squishiness now more than ever.

Tony was pleased to note that Steve was in a seemingly permanent good mood, probably for the first time since he came to join the Avengers in the first place. He’d even let Tony stray from his strict health food regimen, and Tony hadn’t had to go on nearly as many walks as he would have been if Steve had normally had his way. Tony had been eating chicken and cubed frozen vegetables for the past two meals instead of kibble. He had developed a sudden and inexplicable love for frozen peas. He also often found himself hankering for the apple slices Clint always seemed to have on hand.

Clint had gotten into the habit of throwing food at him, aiming for the Cone of Shame as if it was a basketball hoop. It dulled the humiliation of the Cone a little. Not much, but enough so that Tony sometimes forgot that he was wearing it.

Tony was content. It was probably the pills, he thought, and he went back to napping, drool pooling under his chin. Steve’s fingers moved through his back fur and Tony leaned into the touch, sighing contentedly. Steve stiffened for a second when he realized what he’d done, and then seemed to calm and rearrange his panic into a more manageable form. The fingers returned to their stroking and Tony’s eyelids fluttered. Steve was still very careful about touch – it seemed to be slowly making it into his repertoire, but he was still fighting with it every step of the way. Tony found it annoying.

God, though, he still couldn’t get over how nice it was on the couch. He was close to Steve, the object of his growing obsession, and everything was easy. It was safe and tranquil, and Steve was letting his guard down slowly but surely. Tony licked his nose and yawned, stretching into Steve’s hand, pushing his body backwards. He could feel heat radiating from Steve’s skin and basked in the warmth. It was pleasant in ways Tony found new and exciting. It was too much closeness for Steve though, and Steve pulled his hand away as if Tony had bitten his fingers. Tony grumbled nonsensical gibberish to himself in complaint and let his body roll back towards the centre of the blanket.

Maybe it wasn’t so easy after all. Steve still acted as if Tony was going to hump his leg, and Tony wasn’t ashamed to say that it made him angry that Steve even _thought_ that he could be that crude. He’d tried to reassure Steve a few times already, but it only seems to have made things worse because now Steve kept looking at him out of the corner of his eye when he thought Tony wasn’t looking. That may also have been because of the pills. He wasn’t certain, but it was possible that he had been much too lovey dovey with Steve because of them making him less inhibited. He’d blame the pills of course, because who wanted to admit that it was him, _Tony_ , who was letting his guard down around Steve? He’d kick himself for it, but he wasn’t not sure that in his drug addled state he’d manage to hit himself, and he didn’t want to have to explain to Steve why he’d been attempting to assault himself in the first place.

 

“So – when can we take his majesty’s cone off?” Clint asked, flipping channels. They were watching old action movies again, as they did every evening when they had time to themselves. Steve shrugged beside him, noncommittal for a moment as he thought about Clint’s question.

“Well I’m sure it’s alright if we do it soon – it’s been what, four days now? He’s supposed to get his stitches taken out at the end of the week.” Steve said at last, eyes fixed on the television as a commercial for yet another action flick came on. His eyes stayed there until the commercial ended and then they turn to settle at Tony, who had flipped upside down so that Clint could have easier access to his itchy stomach fat. Tony wasn’t ashamed about it. Steve, however, didn’t seem to like that he was now suddenly faced with Tony’s dog genitals. The blanket dropped down to cover Tony’s lower half. Tony opened one eye, indignant, and intended to give Steve a piece of his mind, but stopped when he noticed that Steve wasn’t wearing his normal glower. Steve blushed something fierce, and attempted to stare straight ahead, possibly through the television set even, with his lips set in a straight line.

Tony rolled over and rested his head against Steve’s thigh.

“Steve? Can we take the cone off now please?” Tony asked, peeking up at Steve while fluttering his eyelashes to try and win Steve over to the idea; he tried for impish, but it didn’t get across because Steve stiffened instead of relaxed. Steve moved almost impulsively and shoved Tony’s head off his lap. He looked embarrassed afterwards when Tony grunted angrily and his shoulders moved to a now defeated, slumped, position.

“I guess we can take it off…” Steve decided.

“Excellent!” Tony said, perking right up. “And I can go into my workshop after, yes?” He fixed his most adorable expression on his face and looked up at Steve, hoping for the best.

Steve looked down at Tony, lips set in their usual line of unhappiness, and shook his head.

“Tony, you’re on medication. I’m not letting you operate machinery – and you’re a dog. How are you even going to do anything down there?”

“It’s just aspirin. Besides, I can have Jarvis remotely control everything. All I need to do is speak to him and he can do all the heavy lifting. Dummy can put out all the fires. It’s all good Steve.” Tony said. He realized for the second time a moment too late that it was probably a bad idea to mention the whole possibility of him starting a fire by accident. Steve’s eyebrows rose up, vanishing under his bangs.

“Fires? Tony – “ Steve rubbed at the bridge of his nose with one hand, the skin on his forehead wrinkled with frustration. “No. I don’t think that’s going to be happening any time soon.” Clint reached out and patted Tony on the top of his head, trying to be sympathetic; it was hard to give sympathy when he was still watching the television and wasn’t even looking in Tony’s direction. His reassuring pat missed the top of Tony’s head by a few inches, catching him on the side of his snout instead.

“Tough luck buddy.”

Tony pretended to be unconcerned by the verbal slap to his face. He tried and failed miserably. A fire of hate began to burn in the pit of his stomach – not directed at Steve, even though he was the partial cause of it, but at the crystal and magic and everything – _EVERYTHING_ that had gone wrong in his life. He waited patiently as Clint popped open the side of the Cone of Shame, finally having turned to look at Tony; Tony hopped off the couch and made a break for the only room he knew would be open – his bedroom. He heard the sound of someone coming after him and increased his speed. He’d learned from the accident with the sliding glass door and watched where he ran now. He jumped up onto his bed, swearing loudly and vehemently and then wormed his way underneath the comforter and curled up, head pointed at the opening left from his initial burrow. He breathed in slowly and deeply, trying to contain the rage. He wanted to scream – to scream so loudly that the sound might reverberate off all of the walls of the house. Maybe that would power the goddamned crystal! The footsteps stopped out in front of his bedroom and fell silent.

Tony felt useless.

For a full week now he’d been denied his own life. He couldn’t work on any of his projects. He couldn’t sit on his couch alone – he hadn’t even been allowed to sleep in his own bed! He’d been forced by Steve to sleep on the circular pile of blankets under the kitchen table so that ‘everyone would know where he was’. He’d had to threaten Jarvis to trick Clint into opening his bedroom door so that he could sneak in during the night. Whenever he managed to get in under the blankets, he’d understand just what it felt like to be alone in a world that was far too big for him. He understood what it was to be alone.

He had often wandered the house at night as a human, walking back up from his workshop after zombie-working through strange hours, and it would feel quiet and somewhat dead, but never lonely in the house. He would usually just flop down in bed and fall asleep, not thinking about just how large and empty his bedroom was. Now, however, it was all he thought about. Every waking moment, he thought about the reasons why the others in the mansion were even hanging around with him. They _had_ to – someone _had_ to be there to open the doors to let _Tony_ into the bathroom (where he had modified one of the toilets so that there would be no poop scooping thank you very much) and the door was never left open because Steve was convinced that _Tony_ was going to drown himself in the toilet bowl if left unattended.

Tony sank his teeth into the sheet beneath him, tearing at it. He heard the fabric rip and relished the sound of it. He didn’t care if it was 100% Egyptian cotton or that it had cost him five grand just getting it imported and through customs. He wanted to rip and tear something. He wanted to get revenge for the crystal and its curse – to avenge _himself_ for god’s sake!

The Avengers’ communicator sitting on Tony’s bedside table went off, screeching out its call, vibrating its way towards the edge of the table. He cringed, pointed ears flattening further against his head. He could just barely pick up the sound of the others running to their own rooms to get dressed. The person who had chased him down the hall left abruptly. He could smell who it was, and half hated Steve for being the one to try and drag him away from his own room. He was fine with being alone. He knew they were leaving – he’d been alone for a long time and that was just fine with him. He was used to being alone anyways – they could go and do whatever they liked.

He felt like crying. If his body had been able to, he would have.

 

 

Clint was a scary little angel sometimes. He smuggled Tony out of the mansion shortly after he’d had his stitches out. Steve had been called away to finish some reports in SHIELD and he’d left Tony unattended – or that was Clint’s excuse at least. Tony had been ecstatic when Clint had put the harness and leash on him; they had snuck together out the front door to where Happy was waiting with the car. Clint had arranged to take him to visit Pepper, so Happy had agreed to help them with their evil plans. Tony and Clint had ridden in the passenger seat on the way to Stark Industries; Tony had his head half out the window, sitting on Clint’s lap as the archer chatted away with Happy, explaining what he planned to do. Tony was too excited to listen and blocked out most of Clint’s babbeling.

Happy left them on the curb of the Stark Industries building. Clint and Tony walked into the lobby together, both walking a little jauntier than they normally did. The secretary, a woman by the name of Gale, gave them a cold look and pretended to be glad to see them. Tony had always appreciated her wicked sense of humor; she usually gave people shit if they didn’t have appointments, and he’d been on her bad side a few times himself when he’d shown up late to work. She followed Pepper’s instructions most of the time, so she knew the drill and wasn’t afraid to tear a strip off of him.

“Hi, I’m Clint Barton – here to see Ms. Potts.” Clint said, standing in front of the desk. He was being polite and it was unnatural on him, but it seemed to work with Gale, so Tony supposed it probably was part of his SHIELD training. Tony sat beside Clint, trying to appear cute and nonthreatening. He was pretty sure that his company had some kind of ‘no animal’ rule – or maybe that had only applied to him. He wasn’t sure.

Gale looked down at her computer, frowning, and then picked up the phone, calling someone.

“Ms. Potts? I have a Clint Barton down here for you. He says he wants to visit.” Gale said. She nodded her head as Pepper responded on the other end of the line.

“Yes Ms. Potts. He does indeed have a dog with him. Would you like me to – Oh. Alright. I’ll send him right up. Sorry for bothering you.” Gale said. She gestured to the elevator and gave him a visitor’s pass, which Clint pinned to his green and purple sweater. Clint walked Tony to the elevator and pressed the button for floor 93. They stood together in silence until the elevator came and then stepped in, waiting for the doors to close before speaking.

“Damn you have a huge building.” Clint grumbled, watching the floor numbers blink by on the console above.

“Yep. Always has been. Nice to see that they let you in though. Usually they keep the riffraff out.” Tony said, smirking to himself. Clint snorted at that.

“Potts has all the Avengers on her approved to visit list – she arranged it with Nat the last time you got yourself put in the hospital. Wanted to be sure that everyone could come get her if something happened.” Clint said, shrugging.

“She always does think farther ahead than most people.” Tony said with a laugh.

“Yeah well… comes with working with you I guess, huh?”

“Probably.”

The elevator dinged and they got off at Pepper’s floor, making their way to the secondary reception area. A new secretary, a man by the name of Daniel gave them a look; they were obviously not investors or board members and therefore suspicious despite having made it past the security down below with a valid visitor’s pass. Daniel finally noticed the visitor’s pass and smiled cheerfully at Clint, stopping his scowl.

“Here to see Ms. Potts or Mr. Stark sweetie?” Daniel said, eyelids fluttering. He did it with everyone and Pepper had joked with Tony a few times that he was the gayer version of him. Tony couldn’t see the resemblance, but then again, he’d never seen himself flutter his eyelids before.

“Here to see Ms. Potts.” Clint said, not affected by the flirting at all. Daniel looked disappointed, but kept a bright smile on anyways.

“Down the hallway past the water cooler and then turn left. It’s the room at the end hon.” Daniel said, gesturing vaguely in the right direction. They didn’t really need directions. Tony could have just walked them there, but it would have looked strange to follow a dog, so he kept his mouth shut and let Clint do the leading.

They walked to Pepper’s office, Clint’s eyes wide and amused as they passed the many paintings that adorned the walls. Pepper’s door was open when they arrived. She was seated at her desk, eating a salad while typing away at her computer one handed. She barely looked up when they entered the room and pointed for Clint to take a seat with her fork while she finished up.

“So. You sprung Tony from his gaoler did you?” Pepper asked, setting the empty salad container aside. Clint unclipped Tony from the leash and gave him free reign of the room. Tony wandered around the desk and jumped up onto Pepper’s lap. She scratched behind his ears, tenderly and in just the right spot. He felt his left leg scratching at empty air and grinned stupidly at Pepper. She laughed at him, continuing to scratch, holding his leg steady with her free hand as it kicked at nothing.

“Yeah, I figured he could use a bit of time away from the smothering blanket known as Steve. Cap keeps him pretty much out of all the fun these days. He’s still pretty paranoid even now that Tony’s out of stitches for him to worry about.” Clint said.

“I don’t blame him. I’d have had a heart attack if I was there when it happened. Tony needs to learn how to behave himself.” Pepper chided, smacking Tony atop the head.

“Heh, yeah, well. Not as if I can judge. I’ve also run into that door…” Clint grinned.

Pepper stared at him in disbelief.

“You’re kidding.”

“Sadly no. When I’m drunk I apparently like to streak through the house.” Clint shrugged.

“When the hell did this happen?” Tony asked, raising a furry eyebrow.

“You were out of town – business conference or something or other. Steve caught me. You should have seen his face.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t have an aneurism.” Tony commented dryly.

“He nearly did. Nat had to come save me. I only remember half of it because she knocked me out and dragged me away so I’d stop… uh… maybe I should cut this little story off. No one needs to hear about my naked dancing.” Clint said, flushing in embarrassment. Pepper smiled at him, chuckling.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not as if I haven’t seen or heard worse. I take care of Tony.” She laughed.

“Point taken.”

“So…” Pepper said, reaching to type something on the computer. She leaned over Tony, squishing him against her chest. He didn’t mind.

“Where are you planning to sneak him off to next? Any place special? Should I be preparing some kind of press release just encase you blow something up?” She asked.

“Nah, no press release necessary. I’m going to drag him off to grab a burger and then I’m taking him to one of the pet stores on 9th to get him some stuff. Nat and I have a bet we need to settle which requires props.” Clint said, grinning. Tony didn’t like that grin. It seemed to reek of evil intent.

“You’re planning something, aren’t you Barton?” Tony growled from Pepper’s lap.

“Indeed I am, however, I think we need to cut this visit short – “ Clint said. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket as it pinged and let out an exasperated sigh.

“Steve has discovered that we escaped. Nat is going to hold him off while we go get our burger and shop. She says she can hold him off for three hours if she neglects to mention to him she knows where we went. She’s telling him that he needs to fill out paperwork for it.” Clint snorted, texting something back to Natasha. He put his phone away and snapped his fingers at Tony.

“Off we go. Nice to see you again Pepper.” Clint said.

Tony reluctantly slipped off of Pepper’s lap and onto the floor. She patted him on the head as he went around the table.

“Take care you two. And please try not to cause any horrible incidents. I can only – “ Pepper broke off. Her phone buzzed. She frowned at it and picked it up, looking at the caller ID.

“It seems Steve has learned how to use his phone. You two had better get going or you’re going to get caught.” She laughed.

Clint winked and snapped Tony’s leash back in place. They left her behind as she answered the phone call from Steve, pretending that she didn’t know where Tony had wandered off to.

 

 

The pet shop was eclectic for Tony’s taste. He could tell just by looking at it from the outside. Thankfully Clint had left him in the car with Happy, claiming that he wanted to shop in private. Tony had snorted at him, knowing full well that Clint was buying something embarrassing to dress him in. With any luck, it would be some kind of terrible Halloween costume with wings or some kind of antlers. He had seen Clint reading the Petsmart flyer earlier in the week and had a feeling that there was some kind of sale on the strange looking dog clothing somewhere.

When Clint was done he returned to the car and they drive to White Castle to get take out burgers. Clint requested they be dropped off at the park so that they could sit on a bench and talk while Happy drove around to throw the SHIELD GPS trackers off; he didn’t expect Steve to be able to work out the GPS to begin with, so it was probably more precaution than necessity. Tony had a feeling that Clint felt it was yet another way of diverting Steve’s all-seeing eye, and Happy seemed to agree with him and Happy didn’t agree to do anything unless he had proof that it was a useful decision.

Clint walked him through the small neighbourhood park carrying the bag of burgers, swinging them back and forth as they walked. They moved at a relatively slow pace, Tony just keeping in step with Clint as they made their way to one of the graffiti covered benches adorning the cracked sidewalk. People jogged past them, smiling at Clint, who winked back at them.

They sat down on the bench and Clint un-wrapped the first burger, splitting it in half. He spread out the wrapper under Tony’s nose like a picnic blanket and put down bits of the burger, letting Tony eat as he stuffed his own half of the burger into his mouth, chewing blissfully as he crunched through a piece of especially crispy bacon. They ate in silence, commenting only about the taste of the food and the temperature of the wind. It was a relatively cloudy day and even though it was warm, the lack of sun seemed to make it colder than it should have been.

Clint’s phone rang and he reluctantly extracted it from his pocket after wiping his sticky hand on a napkin.

“Steve is phoning me. Do I answer or do I let him hang?” Clint asked, looking down at the phone with uncertainty.

“Think he’s mad?” Tony asked, eating another chunk of bite sized burger from his wrapper plate. Clint nodded.

“He’s probably going to scream in my ear until it bleeds.”

“And if you ignore it, it will just get worse.”

“Exactly. Eat your burger and enjoy it – it may be our last. Ever.” Clint said glumly, answering the phone as it rang through a second time.

“Steve? What’s up?”

Clint winced, holding the phone away from his ear. Tony could just pick up the sound of Steve’s tinny voice through the receiver. He licked the ketchup off the wrapper and eyeballed the bag of burgers, wanting another. Clint unwrapped it one handed and then held the phone against his shoulder and ear to rip it in half and then into pieces. He wrapped his half of the burger up again and then held his hand out so Tony could lick the mustard, cheese and ketchup off his fingers, still talking with Steve.

“Yes Steve, I’m still here. No. No. No. NO!” Clint let out a loud sigh, holding the phone away from his ear. He put his hand over the microphone.

“He thinks that we are irresponsible cretins who should be locked up or possibly drowned in the ocean with cinder blocks chained to our feet. He’s not certain which yet. He’s threatening to come get us.”

“Come get us?” Tony said through a mouthful of bacon, cheese and beef.

“Yeah. He’s trying to pretend that he’s not mad and that he’s only concerned about our wellbeing. I can feel his wrath flowing through the phone…” Clint said.

“No Steve. We’re fine. We’ll be back in like thirty minutes – ok. Twenty. Fine. We’ll be back at the car in fifteen minutes and Happy will drive us home – oh. You’re already with Happy. That’s good…” Clint shared a horrified look with Tony, covering the microphone again.

“He’s got Happy!”

“Jesus – The boy scout moves fast when he wants to.” Tony grumbled.

“Yeah really…”

Clint uncovered the microphone again.

“Yes Steve, I’m still here. Just talking with Tony. NO – I was not being rude and ignoring you. We were talking Steve. FINE – talk to him instead!”

Clint pressed the phone against Tony’s ear, holding it up.

“Steve?” Tony asked.

“Tony! What the hell were you thinking – you could have been – “

Clint took the phone back and pressed it up against his ear, seeing Tony wince at the volume of Steve’s yelling.

“Have to go Steve – people are walking by and we don’t want to look like crazy people by having the phone pressed up against Tony’s ear.” Clint said cheerfully. He hung up without waiting for Steve’s response; they would undoubtedly be hearing it in a few minutes when Steve arrived at any rate.

“We’re in so much trouble.” Clint grumbled, putting the phone away. He fished his burger out of the bag and pulled out the fries as he was at it, ripping some up for Tony to eat.

“No sense wasting good food. Eat fast but don’t choke – I don’t need another reason for Steve to kill me.”

“Point taken.” Tony said. He gobbled up the fries as Clint inhaled his burger, both trying to get as much eaten before Steve arrived to take their food away.

Steve arrived five minutes after they had gotten off the phone with him. He took one look at the bag of White Castle and snatched it away, stuffing it in one of the little metal garbage cans. He did not look pleased. There was a distinctly edginess to him; Tony couldn’t quite place it, but it was certainly very close to borderline hysteria. He grabbed Clint by the front of his shirt, took Tony’s leash from its circular pile on the bench and physically dragged them both back to the car. Happy waved meekly from the driver’s seat. Natasha and Coulson were sitting in the back seat of the car. Both looked hassled and somewhat annoyed; they probably had been trying to keep Steve occupied and had failed at their task.

Steve shoved Clint into the back seat in between Natasha and Coulson and then stuffed Tony onto Clint’s lap, slamming the door so hard that the windows rattled. He clambered into the passenger’s seat and slammed that door too.

“Home. Now.” Steve growled.

Happy pleasantly obliged, taking care to drive the speed limit the entire time, sneaking looks at Steve whenever he pretended to check his mirrors. Tony was pretty sure that he secretly wanted to just get the hell out of the car; they hit the first red light and the car slowed to a stop.

Steve turned around, his eyes narrowed and lips curling at the corners with rage.

“What the hell were you two thinking?!” He snarled. Coulson and Natasha remained coolly staring forwards out the windshield past Steve’s fuming form. Clint and Tony flinched in unison, trying to melt backwards into the seat.

“We just wanted to go out – “

“No. The correct answer is that you _weren’t_ thinking!” Steve growled, leaning around the seat to glare at them both. Clint wrapped his arms protectively around Tony, still shrinking away from Steve.

“Relax man – it’s not like I was going to leave him alone! We were together the whole time – and when he wasn’t with me he was with Happy – you trust _Happy_ , don’t you?” Clint mumbled. Steve’s frustrated glare suddenly melted. It was as if someone had flicked a switch and turned the rage off entirely. He turned away and faced the windshield, not saying anything more.

Tony was pretty sure that they were still in trouble. He carefully took a look at Coulson, who was still staring rigidly ahead as if the headrest on Happy’s seat was the most interesting thing he had ever seen in his life. Natasha reached out and patted Tony’s head and then Clint’s. Coulson lip twitched at that but remained stoic.

The ride home was very quiet.

 

 

It rained the next day and the day after that. Tony watched it through the living room window, nose pressed up against the glass. The window fogged from the heat of his breath and he wiped at it with his paws, cursing himself. He was tired. Tired and bored; these were the top two things that made it impossible for him to sit still and concentrate. He had already run through the living room three times already, lazily circling the couch where Steve was dozing in front of the television with the sound muted. He and Clint had been under direct supervision ever since they had snuck out of the house. Tony had never seen Steve act so sternly with Clint before; he himself had been chastised and threatened so many times that it seemed like it came as second nature to Steve.

Clint was currently hiding in his bedroom with the door locked, refusing to come out. He’d been in there day and night for the past two nights, not wanting to encounter Steve’s wrath during the day. He claimed that it didn’t bother him that Steve had been giving him the cold shoulder, but it obviously did. Even Tony, who was often oblivious to others emotional states half the time, could tell that Clint was miserable. It was extraordinarily quiet in the living room; Tony didn’t really like it, but he supposed that this was just the way any rainy day went nowadays. He used to spend times like this down in his workshop fiddling away with anything he could get his hands on. He wanted to be back down there now so that he could do something with his life again. He sighed and pushed his nose against the glass, leaving a smear behind, scowling out at the rainy world beyond the window pane.

“Tony?”

Tony turned around, looking up at Bruce, who walked with a shuffled gait towards him. Bruce sat down with a grunt on the carpeted floor behind Tony, his legs crossed beneath him. He followed Tony’s gaze, looking out the window.

“Bored?” Bruce asked, eyeing the rain with half-hearted contempt.

“Yeah. No one’s wanted to do anything today and it’s not like I can just rush out and go do something on my own. Happy’s been banned from driving me anywhere without Steve’s permission.” Tony grumbled. He was bitter about that. He didn’t appreciate the fact that Steve had taken so many liberties with his life and friends. Tony was pretty sure that Steve had even attempted to ream Pepper out for not telling him the truth; he couldn’t confirm this, but the way Natasha kept eyeballing him, he had a feeling that some words had been exchanged at least.

“Ouch. He must have been really mad at you.” Bruce commented. Tony crawled into Bruce’s lap, ignoring the way Bruce stiffened and twitched with displeasure. He could probably use Bruce’s rage to make a nice hole in the wall that he could use to escape from the living room. Maybe he’d be able to get past the driveway before Steve caught him –

“I’d take you out, but I think Steve would rip me a new one.” Bruce said. He scratched Tony’s shoulders with one hand, still watching the rain drip down the window. Tony rested his chin on Bruce’s leg, sighing to himself. He sighed a lot now – he didn’t like it one bit.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for the offer though.”

“Natasha’s supposed to be bringing Steve some paper work for him to finish. She said on the phone that she’d be back soon.” Bruce said, moving his hand so that he could scratch behind Tony’s left ear. Tony groaned, melting in Bruce’s lap.

Tony heard the front door beep as it opened; Steve jumped up from his sprawl on the couch, eyes wild and alert. He looked around the room and visibly relaxed when he spotted Tony sitting in Bruce’s lap. He’d been expecting to see them gone probably. Tony hadn’t had the heart to tell him that he wasn’t planning on making any grand escapes this time without Steve’s consent. Natasha had been very clear when she’d cornered him earlier in the day that all trips would now be coordinated with either hers or Steve’s approval and knowledge. He had expected something like this to happen after the scream out in the car. He still felt guilty when he thought about that.

Natasha walked into the room with a wet box of papers carried carefully in front of her. She had a plastic bag filled with more papers stacked precariously on top of the box; neither seemed to bother her in the least. She still moved like a gymnast. Her hair and jacket were dripping with water; they left a trail from the door to the living room. Steve rose from the couch and politely took the box from her, setting it down on the grey and black designer coffee table sitting in between the television and the couch. Tony didn’t normally keep that coffee table in this living room. It belonged to one of the other living rooms; Steve had moved it in when he found out that he had paperwork to do. He hadn’t thought it was right to have a living room without somewhere to store the snacks and drinks. Tony had had to bite his tongue to keep from pointing out that said coffee table had set him back approximately seven grand and that it was not really meant for anything other than decoration and really shouldn’t have any snacks sitting on it in the first place. He could see Steve’s reasoning; that didn’t make it any less crazy in Tony’s eyes. He’d never been one for décor before. He disliked the placement of the table now on principle, having to watch out for the sharp corners every time he circled the couch. He was at the perfect height for gouging out his eyes on those corners and he’d clipped his shoulder once already that day. He hadn’t said anything about it though. Steve would have had a panic attack if he’d complained and then he’d be right back in the same old situation – that, or Steve would tie him to the bottom of the table and lock him in the kitchen.

“So I think it would be a good idea if Clint, Tony and Bruce went out for a walk while we fill out these files.” Natasha commanded. Steve opened his mouth as if to say something; he fell silent when she glared at him, arms crossing over her chest.

“These are team progress reports. Classified reports Steve. You know the drill. You’ve filled them out before.” Natasha said. Her voice didn’t rise, nor did she add any emotion to the sentence. It was standard SHIELD Agent firmness; Tony had heard it a thousand times from Coulson when he’d been pestering him to fill out his own paperwork. He disliked that tone. It often meant that Tasers were going to be involved somehow in a slightly cattle prod manner.

Steve reluctantly turned his attention to the box, sorting through the lopsided piles of damp coloured folders and loose papers crammed within. He began to sort through the smaller piles with military precision, arranging things on the coffee table according to size, colour and description. He looked up at Natasha in surprise when he found one file in particular – Tony couldn’t read the words printed on it from where he was, but it was obviously something familiar to Steve, because he seemed to recognize it.

“Coulson also included a few briefs for you to skim at your leisure. He thought they might be useful.” Natasha said. She pulled out her phone and sent off a rapid fire text. Seconds later the sound of fast paced footsteps tore down the hallway towards them. Clint skidded into the living room, a small dog sized rain poncho clutched against his chest, a rain jacket of his own held under one arm and Bruce’s jacket under the other. Tony’s leash and harness were hanging around his neck. This had been planned again, Tony thought with a laugh; Steve seemed to realize this as well and pursed his lips in a frown, clearly not amused.

“They need to get some fresh air. They will be back in two hours and they will take their cellphones with them as well as their SHIELD locators. They will be fine. They will keep Tony on his leash at all times.” Natasha said, eyeballing Steve. Steve shrugged his shoulders.

“Alright. Sounds as if you’ve got it sorted out. Have fun you guys.” Steve said, a semi-forced smile making its way across his lips. It was almost painful to look at. Natasha sat down on the couch beside him and began to go through one of the red folders; Steve began to do the same. He was soon lost in thought, flipping through reports.

Clint grabbed Tony and stuffed him into his harness and the rain poncho with such speedy precision that Tony suspected he had been practicing it on some kind of stuffed animal in his room. Bruce struggled upright and into his jacket, it having been thrown onto his head when Clint had made the grab for Tony in the first place; he wobbled as he walked, trying to head out towards the door. They all moved so fast that they almost forgot to put on their shoes. It took a few minutes longer, and then they were out the door in record time, speeding down the driveway as if they had just robbed a bank.

Bruce started panting and had to grab Clint by the arm to get him to slow down. Tony danced out in front of the pair, pulling at the leash.

“Come on; come on – before we get dragged back inside.” Tony cackled excitedly.

Clint rolled his eyes, letting Bruce catch his breath before they moved any further. Bruce grinned, sharing Tony’s excitement.

“Where do we go? It’s raining… so uh…” Bruce said, zipping up his jacket fully so that the rain couldn’t drip down the front of his shirt. Clint tapped his finger against his lower lip, thinking.

“Well there’s a skateboard park about seven blocks off of Preston Street. Nat and I went there to do some reconnaissance practice. It seemed nice – and – “

Clint grinned down at Tony.

“It has a food stand that sells fries and hotdogs!”

“Ooh. Hotdogs!” Bruce said, face lighting up. He caught sight of Clint staring at him and coughed embarrassedly. “I didn’t really have lunch yet.” He explained.

“Same here. I guess it’s our lucky day then!” Clint said.

Tony set the pace of the walk at a slow trot. Clint seemed resentful of the speed, but one look at Bruce half dying made him come to terms with it and accept the speed for what it was. They moved together like a flock of birds flying south for better weather. Tony found the wet air refreshing. All the other smells were damp and muted except for a strange mustiness that was the smell of wet cement. He found he liked that smell. It was oddly satisfying; Clint seemed to like it too, because he kept commenting about it the whole way to the skateboard park.

When they arrived, the park was almost completely empty. The half pipes and pools were housing their own lakes and only three people were attempting to brave the rain; they had mild success and didn’t completely wipe out on the wet cement, but they came damn close to it a few times. A slender woman with long flowing black hair jumped over rectangular box, sliding to a halt as she splashed through a puddle in the middle of the park. She kept her balance and shook herself off. She was dripping wet, her white t-shirt pressed against the curves of her body.

Clint stared for a moment at the scene, familiarizing himself with her curves and then turned to Bruce.

“So how many hotdogs do we want and how many fries – oh and do we get sauerkraut too?” Clint asked. Bruce shrugged, leading them towards the food stand. The stand was a refurbished metal trailer with an extended roof jutting out from the top of it. A few grey picnic tables littered the area around the front of it, sheltered from the rain. Bruce chose a table and picked Tony up, putting him on the flat wood. He let the leash drop and then he followed Clint, who had zombie walked towards the food stand with his hands outstretched towards it, to go pick out their food.

Tony surveyed his kingdom from the top of the picnic table. From this height he could see all the way across the whole of the cement skate park and off into the distance. He sniffed tentatively at the air, picking up hints of something sugary and fruity.

“Stark. How lovely to see you!”

Tony spun around on the table, hackles raised, claws scratching against the soft wood. The slender black haired woman approached, her ruby red lips curled into a soft smile. She leaned against the edge of the picnic table; Tony could see the curve of her breasts through the shirt and her eyes glowed green. He recognized the smile up close and suppressed a shudder.

“Hello Loki.” Tony said. He wanted to yell for Clint and Bruce’s help but they were too far away, arguing with one another about the different toppings for their hotdogs; they probably wouldn’t have heard him anyways even if he had been able to yell loud enough to alert them. He tried to look unconcerned about it. Loki sat down on the bench, leaning with her arm against the dry wooden table top.

“What’s with the lady parts? Got bored being you?” Tony asked, ready to leap away at a moment’s notice.

Loki smiled, her lips curling again in to a seductive smile. She looked at at Tony over her shoulder, wet hair sticking to her cheeks, as she leaned backwards. Tony found himself watching her, enchanted by the smooth flowing movements.

“Come now Stark, you know how bored I get. Sometimes it’s nice to have a change in pace. You have to admit that – you’re not looking like yourself either.” Loki said.

“I want to change back – “

“I’m sure you do, but it’s really not up to _me_. You touched the crystal with your bare flesh – it attached to your mind and emotional state. I’m hardly in charge of that, now am I?” Loki drawled. She reached out, stroking Tony’s snout; her fingernails were French manicured making them seem to shine in the rain. Tony resisted the urge to bite down on Loki’s hand as hard as possible. It was still likely that Loki would tell him something useful about the crystal – aggression would remove the chance of learning more.

“What does _that_ mean?” Tony asked carefully, watching Loki’s face for signs of treachery.

Loki smiled; the look was liquid poison mixed with seductive charm; she adjusted her shirt, unsticking it from her wet skin and fanned her face.

“Well – I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but really… it’s much more fun to give you a few hints and see what your little Midgardian mind makes of them.” Loki flicked away invisible lint from her palm. She turned, eyeing Tony as if she was a snake thinking of eating him as dinner.

“I’ll give you some important information. Take this as you will. You’re not the one who is doing the changing, Stark; someone else is in control of powering the crystal, not you. _I_ was initially going to use it on _Thor_ to try and remove some of his less _desirable_ traits before your idiot Captain clubbed me with his god awful shield.” Loki purred. She smiled at Tony, standing up and moving away with the grace of a dancer.

“I’m afraid our time is up little Stark. I love what you did with the rain coat – looks divine with your fur.” Loki laughed airily. She walked away without another word as Clint and Bruce returned, blowing them both a kiss as she walked back out into the rain. She vanished from sight as the rain began to pour, the raindrops hitting the ground so hard that they bounced back up and struck twice before settling in their puddles.

Clint sat down on the opposite side of picnic table from Bruce, setting down an armful of hotdogs, French fries and onion rings. Tony moved to snag an onion ring as it fell from the cardboard container; Bruce snagged it and smacked Tony on the nose.

“You can’t eat onions. They’re bad for dogs. You could get sick and die.” Bruce said through a mouthful of onion ring. Tony scowled at the rings. They had been one of his favourite foods when he was human. He’d had to give up a lot of his favourite things ever since he’d become a dog. He was really starting to dream about chocolate; eating that would get him killed just as fast as the onions would.

“So I see the pretty lady visited you.” Clint said, cutting up a hotdog covered in ketchup into thirds with a plastic knife he’d swiped from somewhere. He held a piece out to Tony, who sniffed at it and took it in his mouth, chewing slowly while he thought about how he was going to phrase his little talk with Loki. He decided to go with the easiest approach.

“The pretty lady was Loki.” Tony said flatly.

Bruce spat out his onion ring with a cough, half choking. Clint dropped the hotdog he was attempting to stuff in his mouth down the front of his shirt. They both stared at him, terrified.

“What?!” They said in unison, eyes wide, voices shrill.

Tony wiped some onion ring off of his nose with a paw.

“He said he was bored. He was kind enough to give me some information about the crystal. Apparently I’m not the one who is powering it.” Tony sighed. He nibbled at a piece of sauerkraut that had fallen off of Clint’s hotdog, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Ok – so… he… she is gone now though, right?” Clint said, looking around suspiciously at the other people in the skate park. There were no women left; only a few roller bladers gliding around the half pipes in the rain.

“He’s gone, yes.” Tony said.

Clint looked relieved. Bruce seemed to relax as well. His fingernails had been a rather terrifying shade of green only moments beforehand; Tony had been concerned that they would have to be rebuilding the park itself after Bruce got through with it.

“Alright. So Loki is gone and I don’t think he’s coming back. He obviously didn’t care enough about the transformation to kill you in revenge… so… I guess we can trust what he said? We can ask Thor about it – maybe he’ll know.” Bruce said slowly, letting out a long held in breath. His eyes were half closed; his eyelids tinted green.

“And whatever we do – this does _not_ reach Steve’s ears. _Ever_. We’ll have to tell Thor that we thought about it ourselves or… no. We’ll just tell him Loki said it, because he’ll be able to tell if Loki is telling the truth.” Clint said, collecting the remainder of his hotdog. He stuffed it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully while Bruce collected his calm again.

“Yes. We most definitely do not tell Steve about this. If he finds out that Loki was here he’ll never let Tony leave the house again.” Bruce agreed. The green drained from his features slowly, returning to the soft peach it had been before. He picked up his own hotdog and took a bite, eating quickly, pushing the box of fries towards Tony, who gobbled them up without further prompting.

“The question though,” Tony said, pulling his snout out of the fry box. “Is who the hell is responsible for the change? The way Loki was talking it could have been someone I know – someone attached to me. He mentioned three things – three clues I guess, if we can trust anything that comes out of his mouth.”

“Like?” Clint asked, crumping up his hotdog wrapper. He stole a fry from the box, ignoring the fact that Tony had just had his face in them.

“He said and I quote: You’re not the one who is doing the changing, Stark; someone else is in control of powering the crystal, not you. _I_ was initially going to use it on _Thor_ to try and remove some of his less _desirable_ traits before your idiot Captain clubbed me with his god awful shield.” Tony said, reciting from memory.

“You remember it all word for word?” Clint asked, surprised.

“I have an eidetic memory Clint. I remember everything I see or hear.” Tony said, rolling his eyes.

“That’s handy.”

“You’re telling me.”

“So…” Bruce cut in, wiping his lips with a napkin.

“He gave you three things from what I can tell. One, you’re not in charge of the change – someone else is. Two, he was intending to use it on Thor, which would imply that he was going to use it on…, _himself_ then? If we extrapolate from his initial statement that touching the crystal causes a person to change until someone they want to change changes. And three – it is used to remove an undesirable trait from someone – this person being the one the cursed person wanted it to change.” Bruce said, drumming his fingers on his chin.

“That’s what I was thinking. He also mentioned something about the change being attached to my emotional state and mind. So it has to do with me then – something undesirable in someone I’m attached to? Is that it? ” Tony asked furry brows furrowed.

“I guess so.” Bruce said with a laboured sigh.

“Now all you have to do is figure out which person and which trait. Jesus – Loki sure knows how to fuck with your head.” Clint said, scowling.

Tony wasn’t as put out as the others were. He’d always been good at puzzles, and this would be nothing more than the kind of challenge he used to face every day at MIT. He licked his lips, tasting the sweet tang of ketchup and pawed at Clint to get him to give him the rest of the hotdog. While eating it, he felt a little more like his old self. He could do this – Loki and a damned crystal weren’t going to stop him from getting his life back.

 

 

Tony and Clint cornered Thor the moment they arrived home. They had drawn straws at the skate park to see who would be distracting Steve, and Bruce had drawn the short straw. He had gone off, not completely comfortable with having to keep Steve away from Thor for the next hour or so; they tried to convince him that it was only for a while so that they could and convince Thor to keep the Loki business to himself. Tony wasn’t sure why he felt strange at the thought of keeping something from Steve. His stomach twisted at the thought of blatantly lying to Steve’s face; he had been rude to Steve, but never dishonest. It felt unnatural.

Thor was easy to find. He was sitting in the solarium enjoying the lightning crackling above him, watching it through the glass ceiling. The entire room was had glass walls and had been intended as a peaceful room for his mother back when Howard had still been willing to put down the bottle long enough to think for himself. Tony had good memories of the solarium; he had sat there on the floor near where Thor sat now, looking up at his mother while she attempted to poorly knit some piece of clothing. His mother had never been really any good at knitting, but she kept at it regardless, making pot holders out of mittens and blankets out of socks. Everything had been made of different coloured yarns that she’d send Jarvis buy for her from the market down the road. There had been a crafts shop three blocks down back in the day; Tony had gone looking for it the day after his parents had died and found that they had closed down. She’d been singlehandedly funding the place for years the owner said when he had given Tony a bag of yarn intended for her. They had retired after her death – they’d probably been waiting to do it for years, but she’d just kept coming back and they hadn’t been able to say no to her. She had always had such a warm smile when she was sober and herself.

Thor smiled at Tony and he felt as if he had gone back in time for a moment. He shook his head, pushing the thoughts of his mother in her best days away, knowing that he would need his full attention for this next conversation.

Clint took a seat in one of the round wicker chairs across from Thor, eyes half closing with the sound of rain thundering down onto the glass above. He cuddled into the puffy cushion on the chair, half asleep already. Lightning flickered again; thunder boomed. Thor continued to smile. He patted his lap and Tony jumped up, sitting comfortably against the curve of Thor’s muscled stomach.

“You appear concerned Anthony. What is the matter?” Thor asked, softly stroking Tony’s head.

“We ran into Loki.” Tony said, breath catching in his throat. Thor’s hand didn’t slow; he continued to stroke Tony’s head, relaxed and calm in his chair. Tony wondered for a moment if Thor had heard him or not.

“Thor?”

“Yes Anthony – I am aware of what you have said. What of Loki? Has he done something to bother you?” Thor asked wearily, leaning forwards to look down into Tony’s eyes. Tony looked away, ashamed to see the sadness in Thor’s eyes.

“He told me that the crystal isn’t being powered by me. It is being powered essentially by my wanting someone’s unwanted behaviour to change. Loki said that he intended to use it on you first. I – “

“AH yes! I _have_ heard this story! Loki spoke of it often when we were children. He said that in all of the worlds, there once was a fair maiden who was left by her betrothed the night they consummated their wedding bonds. The man believed that he had corrupted her soul – that his mere presence would alter her true fate and path in life. He left her, believing that he had saved her from a horrible fate as his beloved; a wife who would be looked down upon by those of his higher rank in society. Loki spoke of this woman often when he was frustrated – he said that there was always a lesson to learn in life and that even if one was to sacrifice everything for those they love, it is still possible to fail at seeing that person’s real worth. I used to believe at the time that my brother had made this story up because he felt inadequate in comparison to the others in Asguard.” Thor said. He looked up at the sky through the glass, watching the lightning crash overhead, half deafened by the deep constant boom of the thunder.

“Where does the crystal come into the story?” Clint asked. His eyes were fully closed; he reminded Tony of a child listening to a story from their mother before bed.

“The beauteous maiden fell into a dark depression with the departure of her lover. She was a great sorceress and capable of wondrous magics the world had no rival for. She locked herself away, starving herself of companionship so that she could never be broken again. When she saw her beloved again, he had drowned himself after a battle, having slain the man he had grown to love in her place. She was quite distraught and for the first time she cried tears of anguish. These tears fell deep into the darkness, burrowing into the ends of Midgard, vanishing from the maiden who then took her life. The maiden’s tears are said to be those of change – of acceptance. My brother said this often, talking endlessly of the immense power of acceptance and how it could right any wrong if understood by someone loved. He spoke of the seventeen tears the maiden shed – he searched every place he could fine, went down every dark tunnel searching blindly for one of those tears. My father used to tease him for this – he believed that it was nothing more than midden – waste of an age long gone by. My mother…” Thor sighed, pinching Tony’s cheek gently, smiling again with the brightest of smiles.

“My mother believed that Loki had made the story himself – that he saw the need to fill the world with change so that it could become something more interesting than it was. I do not understand what she meant when she said this – I know only that my brother as a child, while being an avid trickster, believed strongly in the idea of love solving all problems. He always enjoyed reading tomes filled with romance and intrigue. He thought that love held the strongest of powers because it could cause such... needless devotion he said.” Thor said.

Tony rested his head on Thor’s stomach once more. He could feel the god breathing in and out and could smell the salt of tears that brimmed in his eyes. He had expected Thor to become angry – to maybe destroy the entire solarium, but no, Thor held no anger for Loki. Thor was more saddened than anything else. Tony thought carefully about the story Thor had told them. It was a story from Loki’s childhood – a time when he had been innocent of evil intent and when he had been for all intents and purposes, a good child. Something was curious about the story though. The idea that a maiden sorceress had shed tears for a lost lover was something passed down through the ages in many different forms. There was always retribution for a lover scorned. A curse like this one – to turn a person into a form unnatural to that of their own seemed like a likely curse for a scorned lover, and yet… Something about this didn’t feel as if it was meant as a punishment. It felt more like he was searching for something or that maybe something was searching for him. The story fit though if he thought about it carefully and broke it down into segments. He had encountered Loki and the crystal when he had wandered into the mine – a mine that had seemed bottomless and unnaturally dark. He’d sensed magic to it and despite his hatred of it could understand when it occurred that things would be out of his control – he hated to be out of control; hated it with a passion. Yet there, in the darkness with as Loki had put it ‘the dead’ there for company, unseen, there had been the crystal. Clear, pinkie length, shining only as an empty vessel waiting to collect energy could; the same crystal was now embedded in the collar wrapped around his neck.

If he followed the story Thor had told him… If he listened to the words and applied them to his life… He could see that it was hopeless. The only person he knew that he wanted to change – the only person with an undesirable trait that he was hurt by… The only person he worried about was Steve. Tony felt dumbfounded. Steve’s homophobia – his outright refusal to touch and be touched by Tony – was the one thing that he wanted to change. He felt a dull ache in his chest and knew that if his dog eyes could cry, he would be sharing in Thor’s agony.

There would be no changing Steve’s feelings for him. No way to change the feelings that Tony had for Steve. Maybe there wasn’t any hope of powering the crystal at all. Maybe it was all an illusion – and that – that was why Loki had gleefully told him about the crystal when they had met again in the skate park. Loki had seen that it was hopeless and he’d been taunting Tony. He’d seen it before Tony had.

Tony felt Thor lift him up; he was tucked under Thor’s chin as the god leaned back into the chair, almost lying flat against it. Tony rested flat on Thor’s chest, cradled in the god’s hands.

“Fear not my friend. There is always hope – no matter how bad the darkness, there is always light somewhere.” Thor said softly, the words only for Tony’s ears.

“I sure hope so buddy.” Tony whispered back, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

 

Tony liked Clint, he really did, but it was hard to like someone who was currently stuffing him into a blue t-shirt with the Captain America shield logo embroidered on it. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Captain America – he had fanboyed with the best of them; he secretly had a stash of Captain America memorabilia hidden away in a locked room within the mansion that no one else had access to. It was just that he didn’t really want to be manhandled today, and it seemed that that was all Clint knew how to do. He’d just come back from the vet, who had given him a checkup, and Clint had been just _dying_ to do this to him. He’d probably been waiting all week, possibly while sleeping with the t-shirt under his pillow so that he could look at it whenever he woke up.

Tony’s fur felt all out of whack. That was something new – he’d only just gotten used to the whole I-have-fur thing, and now Clint was pushing it against the grain and in all the wrong directions all at the same time. He shook himself within the shirt; entire body shaking so hard that he nearly left the floor and became airborne. He almost managed to pull his legs out of the sleeve holes, but was then hauled back into them as Clint began to readjust the shirt for the third time, a look of clear pleasure on his face. He looked down at Tony as he fixed the bottom half of the dog sized shirt, grinning impishly, and then patted Tony on the head.

“There. Good boy.” Clint said.

Tony glowered up at him and gave a playful snap of his teeth in his direction. Clint grinned.

“Ha – Wait till Steve sees this. He’ll blow a gasket!” Clint giggled, rubbing his hands together in front of his lips.

“You do realize that Steve doesn’t actually like me, right?” Tony asked, trying to roll across the carpet in a vain attempt to get the shirt off. Clint lifted him up and threw him over one shoulder, escorting Tony to the living room where Steve was watching some god awful daytime TV soap opera.

“He likes you. He’s just not a fan of your whole… you-ness. He’ll get over it eventually. We all did.” Clint said. He walked in front of the TV and stood where Steve could see him, grinning like a madman.

“Lookit! I made Tony pretty.”

Steve frowned at Clint; he shut off the TV, dropping the remote onto the couch cushion beside him and stared with raised eyebrows at the pair.

“Clint… what did you put him in?” Steve asked curiously, squinting at Tony’s t-shirt. Tony found himself shoved onto Steve’s lap by an overeager Clint, who clearly couldn’t _wait_ for Steve to see the Captain America logo emblazoned on the back and front panels of the shirt. Steve lifted Tony up and glanced at his furry chest, noticing the logo; he shook his head, sighing in exasperation. Steve held Tony out so that Clint could take him back, but Clint was too busy rubbing his hands together in glee again to take him.

Disgruntled, Steve dropped Tony onto the couch beside the remote and fixed his gaze on Clint, who suddenly became very nervous, and didn’t seem to know why. The archer shot a quick look at Tony, who shrugged at him and then went back to staring at Steve, perplexed. Tony looked up at Steve’s face as well; he could see a mixture of disgust and annoyance displayed there on Steve’s slightly curled lips. Just as he had thought, Steve definitely wasn’t happy about the shirt. He felt a twinge of disappointment and felt the need to roll in something particularly disgusting to get even – he pushed that thought away as quickly as it came, filing it away for future use.

“Clint – he’s just had his stitches out and you’re stuffing him into a shirt that could cause him to trip all over himself.” Steve said, arms slowly sneaking up to cross over his chest. Clint looked unhappy now.

“But…” Clint grumbled, eyes downcast.

He reached out to snatch Tony away, possibly to remove the t-shirt. Tony jumped away, grabbing the remote in his mouth; he didn’t desert the couch cushion he was perched on. He was channeling something, he knew, something rotten and bratty.

Tony stared at Clint.

Clint stared back at him.

“Tony…” Steve growled in warning, but didn’t rise from the couch. His arms uncrossed, hanging loosely in front of his stomach on his lap.

Tony sprang off the cushion and took off, circling the couch in a slow trot, avoiding the coffee table. Clint slowly began to stalk him, peeking around the corner of the couch and Steve as Tony continued to circle around in the opposite direction. They locked eyes again, remote clutched in Tony’s jaws, and then circled in a counter clockwise direction. The couch squeaked as Steve sat up straighter.

Clint froze.

Tony froze.

Clint lunged forwards, catching and holding himself on the arm of the couch, eyes locked on Tony’s. Tony jumped backwards around the other side of the couch and poked his head out around the corner to keep an eye on Clint.

“You two. Quit it. Now.” Steve growled dangerously. He didn’t move from his position on the couch, although he looked like he wanted to. His legs and arms were so tense that his veins were bulging under his skin.

Tony and Clint eyed each other again, ignoring Steve, the coffee table and the couch in general, continuing to play, inching backwards and forwards mirroring each movement made by the other. Clint’s grin slowly reappeared on his face. Tony found that he was also grinning around the remote. He felt carefree and giddy –This was all him, all his idea.

“Bring it Stark.” Clint grinned, darting around the couch to try and grab Tony from behind. Tony was prepared for this, however, and charged around to the front of the couch, jumping easily over Steve’s stationary feet.

“Just try it Barton.” Tony cackled back.

There was a flash of movement as Clint made a dive over the top of the couch. Clint was snatched out of the air in mid-jump and deposited onto the floor beside Tony, on his ass, legs splayed out in front of him. His back pressed up against the edge of the coffee table. Steve’s hands grasped both Clint and Tony’s shirts, holding them in place. Tony promptly dropped the remote when he saw the sheer fury in Steve’s eyes. He felt like a kindergartener caught finger painting on the one rug in the room that didn’t yet have paint all over it. This was so much worse than the reaming out in the car from days before.

“WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU TWO?!” Steve shouted, his grip on their shirts tightening.

Clint and Tony both looked down and away from Steve’s powerful gaze. Clint began to doodle in the carpeting with his finger, drawing slow and precise swirls as he tried to block out Steve’s displeasure.

“But we were being careful – “ Clint started, looking up. The archer fell silent when Steve’s left eye began to twitch.

“It’s not like we were trying to hurt each other Steve – “ Tony grumbled.

Steve flicked both of them in the side of the head and then let them go, still fuming. Tony shook himself bodily, ears flapping.

“You just had head trauma Tony. You smashed your _HEAD_ into a glass door – good god, don’t you even _care_ about that? Do you think I want to be scraping you off a wall somewhere in this house? _Huh_?” Steve snarled. He caught himself and took in a sharp breath through his nose, eyes sealing shut as he collected himself, letting the breath out slowly; his eyes opened slowly as he prepared to speak, remaining narrowed and glaring.

“I don’t want to see _either one_ of you getting hurt. You will behave yourselves and you will not _chase_ one another around the couch – even if _Tony_ takes your bow, or something else that you really, really want – You will calmly – and I mean CALMLY, sit down and ignore him. The same goes for you Tony. I will not have you chasing _Clint_ around just because he’s stuffed you into a t-shirt or dog shoes or whatever the hell _else_ he’s bought to stuff you into. Do. You. Two. Understand?” Steve asked, his voice soft now and twice as deadly as ever.

Clint and Tony looked up from the carpet, which had become disturbingly fascinating, and said in unison “Yes, Steve!” nodding together as well.

Steve let out a long sigh.

“Good. Clint, you may go. Tony, I want to talk to you in private.”

Clint struggled up from the carpet and gave Tony a sympathetic look before he beat a hasty retreat out of the room, the coward.

Steve looked down at Tony, pinching the bridge of his nose again.

“Tony. Look. I know that you’re bored and that you want to do something to distract yourself – I get that, really I do. I just… Tony you’re so… _breakable_. I don’t want to have to carry you back to the vet because you’ve smashed into something else while you’re recklessly playing with Clint. I think we need to work out some activities for you that don’t involve physical injury.” Steve said.

“I’m a grown man Steve – I don’t need you mothering me.” Tony grumbled, for the first time looking Steve directly in the eye. What he saw in Steve’s eyes made him feel lower than low. He felt like scum. Steve’s eyes were watering; they looked shiny and exhausted, bloodshot. Steve had dark circles around his eyes; it was almost obscene that that kind of darkness should be anywhere near Steve’s soft looking face.

“Tony. I know you don’t want to hear this. I know you think that you’re larger than life and that you don’t need someone to look out for you, but let’s face it. You’re reckless and you got yourself into this problem all on your own and now you’ve dragged me into it too. This affects everyone on the team as well. At least this way I can control you – I can stop you by putting you on a leash or by closing you in the kitchen so you can’t get out and cause trouble – I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be the guy you hate. I want to protect you and keep you safe, do you understand?” Steve said quietly. He dropped to his knees in front of Tony, who bowed his head with yet another nod, not quite certain that he wanted to be present for the end of the conversation.

“I understand.” Tony said quietly, hoping that it would stop Steve from talking.

Steve reached out and stroked Tony’s head, rubbing soft circles in between his ears; Tony felt Steve’s hands shaking.

“It’s so much easier to talk to you now… I wish we’d been like this before when you were still human. Maybe it’s because you can’t look at me the way you normally do. You’re so much easier to deal with.” Steve admitted, sighing.

Tony tensed beneath Steve’s hand. The soft, soothing, circles suddenly felt harsh and unkind. He looked up at Steve and could see absolute relaxed relief there; it had replaced the exhaustion and unhappiness. Steve smiled at him; the expression tore at Tony’s heart, spitting in his face. He felt the air leave his lungs and felt something unnameable twist and break inside himself.

He was easier to talk to _now_? Now that he was a _dog_? Now that he wasn’t _human_? He’d been that horrible in his real form? He wanted to say these things to Steve, to see that look on Steve’s face when his words reached him, and then suddenly, he didn’t want to be around _anyone_ anymore.

Better off as a dog? _Easier to deal with_?

He pushed out from under Steve’s hand and ran, not looking back.

 

 

Tony felt awful. He curled up tighter, becoming a small, white, furry, ball and squeezed his eyes shut. He was under someone’s bed. In his haste, he hadn’t looked up to see who’s it was and had merely thrown himself under the bed, crawling as far back as he could get from Steve and the living room – a place he had no intention of returning to any time soon, if ever again.

He missed his workshop. He wanted to go back down there to sit with Dummy – someone who would listen to his ramblings without judging him for them. He sniffled, pushing his snout under his tail. He was _pathetic_. He was thirty five and _pathetic_.

“Tony?”

Tony went still, freezing stiff. _Maybe_ if he didn’t move, Steve would go away and just leave him alone to wallow in his misery.

“Tony.”

A gentle hand brushed against his side. Tony tried to make himself smaller, digging his feet into the carpet to propel himself backwards, sliding all the way to the wall. He rested there, the cool press of the wall against his soft fur. The hand returned, touching him again, this time much more tentative than before. Steve had crawled under the bed to reach him. He was lying on his belly, half wedged underneath the frame; it was a miracle that he’d managed to get underneath it at all, really. He wiggled closer until his face was close to Tony’s and then he simply lay there, watching Tony.

“Hey… What’s wrong? I wasn’t too nasty, was I?” Steve asked. His hand rose, reaching once more for Tony’s fur and then stopped, hovering over Tony’s side; Tony could feel the ghost of his fingertips.

“Go away.” Tony said, voice small and almost inaudible. Steve’s fingers grabbed a hold of his tail, capturing it in his fist, tugging. The tug wasn’t rough. It was just a touch, just there to let Tony know that Steve was still there with him.

Tony felt a little worse. He struggled to pull his tail out of Steve’s hand and when he failed due to Steve’s unbreakable grip, turned away to face the wall so that he didn’t have to look Steve in eye. The hand on his tail moved, traveling up Tony’s side to rest on his neck, fingers rubbing and stroking the velvety fur there.

“What’s wrong Tony?” Steve asked again, scooting closer. He was now almost completely underneath the bed, his left foot still poking out from under the blanket that hung draped over the side.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Tony whispered, nose pressing up against the wall. It was dusty underneath the bed; he sneezed, rubbing at his nose with his paws. He wanted to curl up and die, but Steve’s hand just kept stroking him, coaxing his body away from the wall without his permission. He leaned inadvertently into Steve’s touch, wanting to be held and yet not wanting to be touched, trying to make himself small and uninteresting. Steve’s hand slid down to his belly and Tony reluctantly allowed himself to be slid across the carpet closer to Steve’s head and face; his toes lifted up, the claws releasing the carpet they had been gripping tightly only moments before. Steve’s breath rustled his fur, warm and wet.

“Hey, come on. You can talk to me. It’s alright.” Steve whispered back. He began to pet Tony’s back again. His hands weren’t shaking this time. Tony remained silent. He grasped his tail now free from Steve’s hand with his teeth and sucked it into his mouth, chewing on the tip. Steve’s fingers pulled it delicately from his mouth, brushing it out flat against the carpet.

“Is it because I said that I’d lock you in the kitchen to keep you out of trouble?” Steve asked, stroking Tony’s neck. “Because I didn’t mean that I’d actually do it – I just wanted to get the point across. I’d never lock you up like that.”

“I don’t want to talk to you Steve.”

Steve fell silent. He pulled Tony closer and now Tony was flush with his shoulder, with his head tucked underneath Steve’s chin. Steve’s mouth curled with a smile. He began to stroke the top of Tony’s head, rubbing at the feathery fur on his ears until Tony was really, truly, leaning into the touch, eyes half open, eyelids fluttering.

“You’re _mean_ , you know that?” Tony said. He stared up at Steve, his head upside down, and saw that Steve was smiling at him, the start of a laugh on his lips.

“I know.” Steve smirked. He stroked the fur on Tony’s chin, patiently waiting for Tony to tell him what was wrong.

Tony closed his eyes, not wanting to look at that smiling face – the face that made his heart ache. How was it that Steve could do this to him with only a smile? He’d only been aware of wanting something more with Steve for over a week and a half and already, Steve could melt his anger with a single smile. Tony didn’t want to feel like this – to feel so hopeless and drawn out by the way Steve spoke and expressed himself when there was no hope of getting what he craved.

“Am I really that useless? That horrible to be around?” Tony asked softly.

Steve frowned.

“What do you mean? You’re not horrible…”

Steve thought about what Tony had said and the frown deepened. He rested his cheek against the carpet, and patted Tony on the side, leaving his hand there.

“You’re just… intimidating to talk to you. God Tony, and you don’t even realize it, do you?” Steve said.

Tony opened one eye, peering at Steve.

“Intimidating? I’m not – “

Steve’s free hand covered Tony’s jaw and part of his head.

“You are too. You’re very intimidating. The first time I met you, I thought you were going to smack me in the face because I picked up your coffee cup by mistake. You looked so unapproachable in that meeting – and don’t say that you’re _not_ , because you and I both know damn well that you lock yourself away in your workshop most days and don’t let anyone in. How is that approachable?” Steve grumbled.

Tony turned his head, peeking through Steve’s fingers to look up at him. Steve had a very determined look on his face now, and seemed to want to talk now that he’d been given the chance to start.

“You’re a frustrating guy Tony, but that doesn’t mean that you’re useless or horrible to be with. You’re just… frustrating. I don’t know. I’ve never met someone like you before and well…” Steve stuttered to halt. The fingers of his other hand began to drum where they rested on Tony’s ribs.

“I don’t know…” Steve repeated, sighing.

“I don’t MEAN to be unapproachable.” Tony protested, wiggling under Steve’s hand.

“Yes, well, you are. So… I think we understand each other a little better now. Can we put this behind us?” Steve asked.

“Fine, but that still won’t make me any less useless.” Tony said, closing his eyes. Steve’s fingers stopped their drumming.

“You are not useless.”

“I am. Don’t try to reassure me – I’m a realist and I know that I’m useless in this form. I’ve done the calculations. I can’t _do_ anything. I can’t work on upgrades, I can’t use my suit – I can’t even go outside unless someone’s taking me out and I’m on a leash. I can’t sign cheques either – What’s the reason for me to be on this team anymore? I’m useless.” Tony said. There. He’d said it. He felt exhausted, as if he had been treading water for a long time and had only now just reached land. He’d said what he needed to say. He didn’t feel any better now that it was out in the open; he felt even more hollow than before. He was useless and wasn’t even going to be able to save himself this time.

“You’re not useless, Tony.” Steve said firmly. He patted Tony again and then pulled his hands away and settled them on the carpet, framing Tony. He smiled shyly.

“But – “

“You’re not useless. I’ll tell you what – you need proof that you can do things, so I’ll let you make your own proof. You can work in your workshop again on one condition. You have to have someone sitting in there with you even if you’re using Jarvis and Dummy to do all the work, just in case you have some kind of accident – not that I think you will –“ Steve said quickly. “But just in case something happens. Deal?”

Tony looked at Steve, searching his eyes for a sign of something, some kind of interest in him that went deeper than just team responsibility. Steve was shuttered to him; he was biting his lip, smiling but biting his lip, putting up the wall of duty and responsibility that came with being Captain America. Tony could see that there was something there, something in Steve that was struggling to break its way out, something that wanted to say more than what he’d managed to say, but right now, all that could come out was Captain America – the part of Steve that was stern and willing to solve any problem set in front of him. This wasn’t all Steve Rogers – this was someone else, some other mixture of Steve. It made Tony sad to see that Steve was so wrapped up in someone else, yet it was also strangely comforting to know that somewhere inside, there was a Steve, who might be thinking of him differently – a Steve that didn’t _quite_ hate him. He could live with that. Steve had come looking for him when he had run. He’d made the effort. Tony wasn’t sure if, in Steve’s position, he’d have done the same.

Tony smiled and moved forwards, nudging his nose against Steve’s cheek. A faint blush crept up Steve’s face.

“Ok. Thanks Steve. I’ll try.” Tony said, softly.

“No problem Tony.” Steve said, still smiling.

 

 

The first day of working in his workshop was… an unmitigated disaster. Tony managed to melt seven pieces of prototype repulsors built to fit his dog sized limbs, and they wouldn’t have been all that complicated to make if he’d been able to do the damn changes himself with his hands. He was really starting to miss having fingers. He missed his thumbs too. Dummy had been kind enough to put out the eighth disaster which had resulted in a small – SMALL – fire.

Natasha had drawn first watch and had sat on the couch with her feet up, reading a magazine that looked suspiciously like it was called ‘Guns Guns Guns’. He assumed it was called this, because there was an Uzi toting a naked woman on the cover – of course, this could really have been one of those _other_ kinds of magazines – the kind he had used to stash under his bed as a teenager, the ones that had been naked ladies toting Uzi’s instead, but he didn’t want to get close enough to Natasha and her knives to find out. Regardless, she hadn’t actually had a problem with the fire or the melted alloys or the fact that the alloys had dripped their way down off the prototyping machine onto the cement floor and adhered there, the smoking puddle of metal stinking up the lab. He’d been sitting on his worktable giving Jarvis orders at the time, so he’d been well out of harm’s way and had been in absolutely no danger - none whatsoever - it had been no big deal. Natasha hadn’t seemed to think it was a danger either.

When Steve had arrived, however, it had become another matter entirely. Steve had just come back in from an afternoon run – an unusual activity for Steve, who generally spent his afternoons watching daytime programming or documentaries playing on the National Geographic Channel to educate himself about the new world he was living in - and had decided to stop by and visit while Tony was ‘working’. What had started as a friendly visit had turned into a near panic attack on Steve’s part; they had spent several minutes shouting at each other, with Tony repeating that it was _fine_ and that Steve had _nothing_ to worry about because _Natasha_ had been there the whole time, and Steve saying that Tony needed to be more careful because he was going to get himself killed if he didn’t watch out. Steve had stopped shouting at him after the last outburst from Tony, and had very quietly left the room, giving Natasha a _look,_ and Tony had been so _mad_ at him.

Once Steve had departed, he’d gone on a rant about how pushy Steve was and how Steve didn’t trust him– he’d said some other things, things that he’d have never said under normal circumstances, but he’d just been so filled with rage at his own inability to do real work anymore that it had all just sort of slipped out. He may have mentioned loudly that Steve thought he was a moron. He may also have mentioned that Steve had looked stupidly hot when he was angry and that it was unfair that anyone so hot could look hot _all the damn time_ even when they were screaming in your face.

Natasha had raised an eyebrow at him and called him over to her with a single pat of the couch cushion beside her. He’d gone to her, hanging his head at his own stupidity and expected to be smacked, as he rightly should have been. What he received was not what he expected.

Natasha patted his head.

“What do you want from Steve? Do you want a relationship? Friendship? What?” Natasha asked. She stretched out on the couch, trapping Tony between her knees as she unfolded her body, dropping the magazine to the floor. He lay down on his side and rested his chin against her shin, wary of moving any closer to her despite her serene body language.

“What are you talking about?” Tony said, trying to get around the question. He didn’t want to answer; he didn’t really understand what he wanted any more than she did.

“What do you want from Steve?” Natasha repeated, watching him carefully.

“I don’t want anything from Steve.”

“You’re lying.”

“I am not – I don’t want anything from Steve – “

Natasha’s shin moved beneath him, disorienting his thoughts. She played with his tail with her foot, messing the perfect coil of fur up; she was not wearing shoes, they had been discarded while he was working and she was now wearing only ankle socks.

“You want something from him. I’ve been watching you. You’ve always wanted something from him – I just think you were too stubborn to admit it to yourself.” She said, nudging him again.

“I do not - “

“Stop denying it. I have eyes Tony. I watched you two dance around each other for two months before you had your little conversation in the workshop. You know which conversation.” She said.

Tony looked away.

“I am not aware of having had any such conversation – “

“I talked with Steve about it. He explained himself very clearly when he came upstairs after you punched him in the face Tony. He was beside himself.”

Tony felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. He hadn’t thought that Steve had reached out to talk to anyone about what had happened between them. Steve had never mentioned it again after it had happened. Not that Tony had expected to talk about it again after what had happened the first time. It had been pretty straight forwards. Nothing had happened between them – Steve had been imagining that Tony had wanted things to happen and it had just gotten out of hand.

“He thought I was trying to hit on him, which I wasn’t.” Tony admitted carefully.

“You’re hitting on him now?”

“No. I know it makes him uncomfortable now. So I don’t – I don’t try…” Tony sighed, dropping his head back onto her shin again.

“But you’re interested in him though. You _want_ to hit on him – now that you know you’re interested.” Natasha said.

“How do _you_ know that I’m interested?”

“You watch him very carefully. I’ve seen you mooning about, sighing whenever he touches you. You like it when he’s with you – you take comfort in his presence and in his touch. You want him.” Natasha said. She adjusted the pillow behind her, resting her hands on her lap as she examined her nails.

“I guess so, yeah.” Tony said softly.

“So what do you want from him then? Do you want him to be your friend? Your lover perhaps instead?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. Both?” Tony sighed.

“So you admit it then that you’re interested in him. You want him but you don’t know what to do about it.”

“Yes. I want him.”

It felt odd to be uttering that sentence out loud; the words felt strange on his tongue, as if he’d just been given a shot of novocaine from the dentist and it was just taking effect. Natasha smiled at him.

“And what do you think Steve wants from you then?” She asked slowly.

“He wants me to leave him alone. He doesn’t like me.” Tony grumbled into Natasha’s leg.

She jerked her leg to the side again, dislodging his head; he tried to glare at her but found he could do nothing but stare wearily in her direction.

“He likes you. He likes you a lot as a matter of fact. He’s concerned about you being unhappy and wants to find a way to make you feel better about yourself.” She said.

“I noticed.” Tony said dryly. He hadn’t noticed – he was lying unashamedly and he could tell that she knew it too.

“You did not. You’ve been spending all of your time with your head up your ass Tony. You see what you see – you look at Steve and you see an up tight control freak who won’t let you hang out with your friends. You see a guy who takes control of your life and involves himself in every little thing you do because he doesn’t think you can take care of yourself. Am I right?”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating but – “

“You see it that way. You just admitted it to me when you were busy ranting about him not ten minutes ago.”

“Alright. Let’s say that I see him that way then. What happens now? It can’t be that hard on him. He seems fine to me.” Tony grumbled.

“You’re not seeing Steve. Sure, you’re physically using your eyes and you’re looking at Steve, but you’re not paying attention to the Steve that’s there in the room with you. Steve is concerned about you because he feels that he is responsible for your actions. He feels that he has caused you to act a certain way because of the way _he_ was acting.” Natasha said, nudging him with her shin again when he tried to look away.

“He’s afraid.” She said.

Tony raised his head a fraction of an inch, peering into Natasha’s eyes. She looked stern, as if he had just walked in on her explaining to another agent’s spouse that they had been injured on a mission.

“He’s afraid? Why is he afraid?” Tony asked slowly.

“I had a talk with him when you went out on your little walk to the skate park. You saw the folders that I gave him right?” She asked. Tony nodded, still watching her carefully.

“One of those folders was the sexual awareness folder that they prepared for him when they first unfroze him. He didn’t want to talk about it with Fury or the doctors. He didn’t want to talk about it with Coulson either. He talked about it with me because I told him that he wasn’t going to be leaving the table with all of his limbs if he _didn’t_ talk with me about it.” She said.

“And what happened exactly…” Tony asked, trailing off into a silence that felt unnatural. He wanted to ask more questions – to get to the point already; he could see that she was building up to it and that she was trying to get him to understand as she went along. He felt once more like a child being led along by a preschool teacher and hung his head at not having been smart enough to figure it all out by himself.

“What happened was a very brief but very informative conversation about homophobia and why he doesn’t have to worry about himself anymore. He was very clear that he understands the concepts behind everything – he gets that he’s homophobic because he’s afraid and he understands that it’s unhealthy for him to dwell on it negatively. What he _doesn’t_ get is that no one else in the team or in SHIELD cares if he’s interested in men or not. Let me make myself very clear: I’m not saying that he is and I’m not saying that he isn’t interested in you. I’m just saying that he still thinks that it’s something taboo and that he shouldn’t be talking about it with _anyone_. It makes him very uncomfortable.”

“But he loves those briefings – he follows everything you tell him. Why should this be anything different?”

“He’s had a hard life Tony. You have to understand that he grew up in an era when homosexuality was illegal. You could have been thrown out of your job, locked up or banned from serving in the military for being a ‘fag’. He had all of that nonsense smacking him in the face for twenty some odd years, and it’s not going to just go away overnight. You on the other hand, have had no such problem in your life. You have never had to worry about being publically humiliated and thrown in jail if you just decided one night that you wanted to suck some guy’s dick – I’m being crude here on purpose. People in our century don’t have the same feelings towards homosexuality and it’s not fair for Steve – it’s not something he’s ready to deal with yet so I’m going to ask you right now. What do you want from Steve? What do you want out of the relationship?”

“I want to be with him now. Whatever those words mean – I want to be with him so that he knows that someone likes him and cares about him.” Tony said softly.

“Then you’ve got a long wait ahead of you Tony. He’s not ready. He’s still slogging through all the pamphlets and web pages trying to understand what his own feelings mean for you and him. He likes you – I can tell that he likes you because he is absolutely _terrified_ of something horrible happening to you and to be frank, he doesn’t have that same level of concern for the rest of us. He sees us as team mates and he likes us in his own way. You he sees differently. He looks to you and he sees you as some kind of strange creature that he just can’t quite figure out. Can you be the kind of guy who waits for him to puzzle it all out? You’re going to have to do a lot of waiting and if you can’t – if you can’t keep yourself patient and calm you’re just going to traumatize him and push him away for good.” Natasha said.

Tony understood now what had been going on behind the scenes. He could see his own childishness – the way he had worked with Clint to undermine Steve’s authority when it had been Steve trying to keep him safe. It had been Steve worrying about him – worrying so much that he’d been making himself sick and tired with worry. Natasha was well practiced in mental subterfuge; both he and Steve had been playing at it as only children could. She’d seen everything from the very start; probably had known it before Tony or Steve had even come to understand what they were feeling themselves. She was right. He had known that Natasha was good at reading people; that she could essentially see into the darkest parts of any human being so that she could yank the meat of their lives and secrets out through the gaping holes in their mental and physical armor. He’d often assumed that she’d just used brute force – thumb screws or possibly electrodes in uncomfortable places – to get this information.

She’d used her eyes for this.

Her eyes.

She’d seen the way Steve was acting and the way Tony was acting and had pulled all of the information Tony had been hiding in his head out and thrown it out into the open for him to see. Then, she’d basically told him everything that he’d been worrying about and dreading and had given him a solution to it all. He would have to let things be and give Steve time to think about what he wanted in life.

“I can be patient. For Steve, I can do that.” Tony said, determined.

“Can you?”

“Yes. I can. I will – I’ll let him think about things for himself. He deserves that much.”

Natasha had hit the nail on the head. She’d cleared it up for him; Steve did have a part of himself that liked Tony, but that it was busy fighting with the other part of him that was afraid that it liked Tony. Tony never had to worry about what would happen if he suddenly realized that he was bisexual or if he was completely gay. He’d had a trust fund and the intellect to keep him working no matter what happened in his life. Steve had his muscles and his people skills – skills that he’d developed after years and years of working with other people who had been biased and cruel as well as those who had been kind and attentive. The only person’s opinion Tony had ever had to worry about was his own; Steve was Captain America – he had to worry about _everyone’s_ opinions _all the time_.

Natasha looked positively delighted.

“You’re growing up a little Stark. I’m impressed. A few months ago you’d probably have just told me to go fuck myself.”

“You’re probably right.”

It wasn’t fair that they’d both had different lives – that they’d grown up in different eras. Steve was the one who had to go through it all the hard way. Tony had simply come to a conclusion about his sexuality and had wanted to act upon it ten seconds after realizing that he wanted Steve in a more-than-friend way. Steve was busy digging for that same conclusion. Maybe he did like Tony the way Tony wanted him to like him. Maybe he didn’t. It wasn’t Tony’s place to force him into making a decision, and it certainly didn’t help the situation when Tony being furiously mean and cranky toward Steve for taking so long to make up his mind. He would have wait for Steve to figure things out for himself.

“I’m always right. Now we will focus on two other matters.” Natasha said, smiling a little this time.

“Great…” Tony groaned, trying to bury his head under her leg.

“So Loki came to talk to you. You think it has something to do with Steve, correct?” Natasha said.

Tony flattened his ears against his head; Natasha knew everything! How was it that she could know everything?

“Did you talk to Thor – or was it Clint that ratted me out?” Tony grumbled reluctantly, not wanting to discuss the Loki situation.

“It was Bruce actually. He took the liberty of telling me when Steve was off making himself a cup of coffee the day it happened. He was fairly certain that you weren’t going to tell me and he thought that it was important that I know. I think he wanted to talk to Steve too, but he felt it was safer to speak with me first – so I could filter out the important stuff while keeping your privacy.” Natasha said with a growl. She looked annoyed now, and Tony never really knew what to do when she was annoyed. He would have instinctively covered his groin if he had had hands.

“So Bruce ratted me out…”

“Don’t you dare go after him! He was just being helpful.”

“I won’t – I was just surprised that he said anything, is all. He doesn’t usually well… talk to anyone.”

“Yes, well he felt that it was important that the facts be known. Frankly, I don’t think you have a lot to worry about with the crystal anymore Tony. Steve will get over his self-loathing and the homophobia will go away after a while. It may test your patience, but I wouldn’t worry. He’ll get through it. I’d advise not telling him about it though – he might feel pressured and start closing himself off. Forcing him to change would probably be the worst thing possible. I think the crystal intends for a gradual change anyways – or else it wouldn’t change the form of the person it was used on in the first place. It must be trying to compensate for your lack of personality and your inability to act like a grown up when talking with people you find won’t sleep with you.”

“Gee. Thanks teach. Should I go sit in the corner or something?”

“Very funny. But as I said – don’t worry about it. Dwelling on it will just make things harder on both you and Steve.”

“Fine, fine. What else? Let’s get this over with.” Tony said. He turned away to face her leg, not wanting to look her in the eye, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with such frank discussion about his feelings and actions.

“I take it that you’ve never been without something to do before.” Natasha said, rubbing her leg against Tony’s nose to get his attention. He sneezed at her and lowered his head, looking up at her from between her legs.

“I guess that’s true.” Tony grunted.

He’d never really just played around with things without being able to tear them apart. He’d always had something to do; he was always working on something in the workshop or reading through things he wanted to apply to projects he was working on. Even as a child he had spent most of his time locked away in his room reading and building robots. His father had never had the time to encourage other behavior and his mother… well she had been more interested in staying out of his father’s way. Howard had been a mean drunk – even with his closest friends. Tony had watched him throw things in Jarvis’ face, and Howard had _liked_ Jarvis – he’d trusted him with his life even. Playing around never went anywhere – he could have spent hours making things up and creating imaginary worlds, but what would have been the point? He preferred to have something physical – something tangible that he could touch and hold in his hands. Besides, he’d never had any friends his age; they had all been in kindergarten or playing on the playground with finger paints. Most of the people he had known were twenty to thirty years older than he was and they had been his tutors – they hadn’t wanted to get invested in the life of a five year old who could outdo them in mathematics and robotics. He had been something of an odd duck – his mother’s phrase. She had given him a bath once – one of the only times she’d done it in fact – and she’d given him a little rubber duck to play with in the bathwater. It hadn’t been yellow like all the other ones Tony had been bought by Jarvis. It had been red. She’d told him that he was an odd duck, still drinking from a martini glass even though she could barely stay upright because she had been drunk out of her mind; he was pretty sure that Jarvis had been watching from the doorway the whole time to make sure that she didn’t accidentally drown him. She’d been proud of that duck – and he had been so pleased to get it from her; a little token of her love for him. The only token he had ever held on to.

The duck had gone with him everywhere – even when he’d gone to MIT. He still had it in one of the drawers in his bedroom, nestled in between his ties, waiting for him in the dark.

No. He’d never really been without something to do. This was the first time he’d ever had time to just sit around the house lounging.

“I suppose that’s why you were all gung ho about chasing Clint around. You’re getting stir-crazy I take it? Or perhaps reliving your childhood?” Natasha said, amused.

“No. Definitely not reliving my childhood – there would have to be a really mean drunk asshole around for it to be like that.” Tony growled bitterly. He hadn’t meant it to come out so angrily, but it had anyways.

“Maybe the childhood you never got to have then? I know that it’s hard on you – not being able to do things as quickly or efficiently as you used to do them. Steve’s noticed. He talked with me about it the other day in the kitchen while he was mixing your breakfast. He was worried that you were going to do something drastic like start a fire and burn the whole place down so you could escape. You’re not though, are you?” Natasha said. The last question was not, in fact, a question. It was an order. Tony nodded his head, trying to make it appear if he wasn’t just doing it to appease her vengeful wrath. She smiled sweetly at him in return.

“You should try to share that playfulness with Steve. He’d probably like being able to spend time with you like that – you know, when you’re not trying to do something outrageously destructive to the house. He could use a friend while he thinks things through. Do me a favor – Give him some time to think about himself. He’s been spending so much of his time worrying about you that he’s forgotten that he needs to think about himself to. He’s processing. You could use the time to get to know him better. You need to think things through too you know. If you want him, you’ll need to work for it.” Natasha said. She leaned back against the pillow, eyes falling shut and then lifted her left leg, using her right to sweep him off the couch.

“Now that we’ve gotten this all straightened out, go back to work. You’re boring me.” She said.

Tony shook himself off and got back up off the floor. He looked around the workshop and saw that Dummy was busy poking at the Iron Dog prototype pieces with his fire extinguisher. He would just have to get back to work – he could think later. Right now, he needed to work or he’d drown in his thoughts.

 

 

On Tony’s second day of work, Bruce drew the short straw ended up laid out on the couch in the workshop while Tony called out commands to Jarvis and worked, mind singularly focused on the new suit. Things were much better today. He only managed to melt two prototypes, and the wiring was much tighter now that he knew what would cause the errors and electrical shorts in the first place. He worked in silence, leaving the music off, which felt a little peculiar, but seemed to help get things going in the right direction. He needed to concentrate, or else he’d give Jarvis the wrong information and then there would be some other kind of catastrophe and something really bad might happen – something with a little more fire power than the previous day. He didn’t really want to have to have someone come in to repair the roof again; it had been embarrassing. He wanted to give Steve a break as well – he was a respectful adult when he needed to be, he could do that for Steve’s sake.

Bruce was much more attentive to Tony’s work than Natasha had been. He’d often wander around the workshop while Tony barked orders to Jarvis and would ask questions about the problems Tony was facing with the miniaturized Iron Man suit; he’d since dubbed it the Iron Dog, and Bruce had actually smiled a little at that. They talked problems out with the mechanics – Bruce was no engineer, but he knew enough about Tony’s work that he was helpful with the smaller problems that cropped up. Most notably, he asked about how Tony was going to modify an arc reactor to get one small enough to power the whole thing. And then he had also pointed something else out that Tony had failed to think about.

Where had _HIS_ arc reactor gone off to? Was it still there within his chest, hidden by magic? Or had it been disintegrated and removed from his flesh entirely? If that was the case – if the arc reactor had indeed been destroyed, there would be a massive problem when Tony turned back into a human. He had plenty of spare reactors, but no one in the Avengers knew the code to get into the locked container that held them; they’d have only fifteen minutes to get at one of the spares or else he would die from the shrapnel moving into his heart. Pepper knew the codes, but really, the chance of Pepper being around when the arc reactor died or was damaged was miniscule. With Bruce’s conjecture, he realized that some new work would be needed and decided to focus on a new form of arc reactor before he attempted to miniaturize the rest of the armor. He would have to find a way to make the reactor’s outer casing expandable and contractible so that it would be able to fit in his port to power him if he did turn back and his regular one had vanished on him. That was nightmare inducing in of itself – the thought that he could transform back and wake up with a gaping hole in his chest made him cringe and want to curl up somewhere within the vault next to the spare reactors. The idea of it happening if he was asleep was even worse. He’d have nightmares about it now for certain; he groaned.

Like Natasha, Bruce sat on the couch and read by himself while Tony worked. Tony didn’t mind that so much – he was used to being in the workshop with Dummy and Jarvis making noise all the time, so it didn’t bother him that someone was sitting there _quietly_. What _did_ bother him was the fact that Bruce had a rather irritating habit of reading aloud – he didn’t quite speaking the words; he lip read with and quietly mumbled along, reading with his finger dragging across the page. While frustrating, Tony knew that telling Bruce to shut up would probably just result in the Hulk restructuring his workshop, so he kept his mouth shut and worked on through the migraine he was now lovingly cultivating.

Just like the day before, Steve showed up in the workshop after another afternoon run. He was disappointed by the failures, just as Tony had been, but seemed pleased with the fact that nothing had lit on fire. Tony was on his best behavior. He talked about some of the problems he’d been having with the work and actually explained to Steve some of the complications he’d noticed with the armor being so much smaller than his normal Iron Man suit. Steve had nodded along, perhaps not quite understanding most of what Tony said, but when he left, he did so smiling at Tony, so Tony took it as a good sign and worked on, trying not to think too much about the way Steve’s face had lit up.

 

Three days later, Tony had a working prototype for the repulsors, arc reactor and the suit all combined together. Steve had drawn watch duty, as they had moved through both Clint and Thor already. Both Clint and Thor had been fun to work with. Tony had had Jarvis hook up a Wii to one of the flat screen monitors near the couch and the pair had spent their time screwing around playing party games with while completely ignoring Tony. He was glad for the company regardless of their lack of interest in what he was doing, and was surprised to get through so much prototyping with all of the ambient noise and screaming going on only a few feet away. He was pleased by the way things fell into place with his work; his mind was completely filled with engineering and he hadn’t been dwelling on Steve at all. He’d been unsure how much he’d be able to get done with all of the mental distractions; the fact that his brain didn’t function as well with no food or sleep in this form also weighed heavily on him, but all in all, things had worked out well despite the issues. The only problem was that now there was a Steve in his workshop, and that was both distracting as well as nerve wracking.

Tony felt nervous having Steve around as he worked with the Iron Dog. It felt as if he were expected to perform for an audience; Steve’s eyes never left Tony’s work, and although he _also_ took up a position on the relatively far away couch, he was constantly craning his neck so that he could keep an eye on Tony at all times. It was as if afraid that something might happen if he looked away or, god forbid, went upstairs for a snack.

Tony looked at his prototype armor and sighed to himself, shaking himself bodily when his ear began to itch. It would be getting messy from here on out if he didn’t have Steve’s permission to do things. He’d never had to ask permission to work before and he had never intended to ever have to ask for it, but it just felt wrong _not_ asking Steve for permission somehow.

Calibrating the repulsors would take testing; testing that would require Tony to physically run tests while operating the armor, which meant that he couldn’t just speculate through the computer. Steve probably wasn’t going to enjoy watching Tony bounce off the walls if he’d miscalculated something by accident. He would have to find a way to involve Steve in the testing process so that he would feel like he was in control of the situation without actually making Steve responsible for anything overly technologically advanced; it wasn’t that he didn’t think Steve was smart, he just didn’t want to raise his margin for error any more than he had to, and he’d had to raise it already because his dog brain was so much slower at processing than his human brain. Tony cleared his throat, drawing Steve’s attention (not that he hadn’t had it already), and bobbed his head at Dummy to get the robot to help him down off of the table. Dummy chirped delightedly and grasped the table with his hand, allowing Tony to run down his arm to the floor. The robot chirped and scooted back to the other side of the room well behind Tony, watching Steve vigilantly from a distance. The robot seemingly understood his master’s anxiety and was prepared to charge at Steve at a moment’s notice.

“So uh… This is going to be a bit tricky. I have to calibrate the repulsors and uh… that kind of requires me to be wearing them.” Tony said. He wished he had hands so that he could have something to clasp and fiddle with if only for a few minutes. The only dog option for this would have been to chew on his toes, which was neither appropriate to the occasion nor tasteful in general. He didn’t really fancy having his mouth taste like feet either and he was pretty sure that Steve would get his Disapproving frown out if he _did_ actually nervously chew anything toe-like in front of him.

Steve’s blue eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch as he thought about what Tony had just said. He leaned against the couch, half draped over the back of it, watching Tony attentively as he approached. Tony took a moment to appreciate the smooth curve of his back as he moved towards him.

“Did you need me to help with that? Want me to put them on for you?” Steve asked, curious.

Tony shook his head, padding closer. He leaped up onto the arm of the battered couch, ignoring Steve’s frown of Displeasure, which was slightly better than the frown of Disapproval, and settled down with his legs hanging off the sides of the battered arm.

“Jarvis can call up the programs and get everything running so the Peeler can put the suit on me. You’ve seen me in the armor before. It’s essentially the same thing as usual, except of course with the whole added fur issues… Have to make sure I don’t get anything caught in there, plus I guess I’ll have to be tethered somewhat so that I don’t fly off on my own – unless of course, I have help. Having four feet is a little different from having two hands and two feet you know.” Tony chuckled, trying to make light of the situation. He stopped laughing immediately when he saw that Steve had an extremely serious expression on his face. He didn’t look at all amused.

“What’s the Peeler?” Steve asked slowly.

“It’s what I call the machine that attaches the suit to my body.” Tony explained slowly.

“I see. And this is a risk free thing? You’re not going to be… peeled of your skin by accident or something, right?” Steve said.

“It’s not going to peel my skin off Steve. It’s completely controlled by Jarvis, who can handle anything thrown at him – I use Jarvis when I’m suiting up in the Iron Man too, so it’s not as if this is new technology with bugs to work out. I’ve never had any problems with the Peeler. And yes, it’s risk free.” Tony stated carefully. Nothing was risk free, however, but telling Steve that probably wouldn’t help reassure him. Anything utilizing technology could malfunction; it was just a matter of keeping expected results within the proper range for success. A point five percent chance of failure was still a chance of failure even if it was minimal – he’d tried to get that percentage down lower, but found that even if he could keep everything working perfect _mechanically_ , the _programming_ still had the chance for errors or crashes if any number of things occurred in combination with certain major events within the programming; together under certain circumstances anything could go sideways. In a few rare instances things could go quite badly, but really, worse things could happen than the Peeler malfunctioning. His arc reactor could go on the fritz and then the entire goddamned building and half of the block around it would blow sky high – this was _also_ something he wasn’t planning on sharing with Steve unless it was close to actually happening. Steve would start ripping out his hair, and he’d look absolutely horrible bald.

“After I’m sealed into the suit I’ll be able to start the testing phase. That’s where you come in Steve. The Iron Dog repulsor boots and suit are small – they’re relatively light, and the suit altogether is only a hundred pounds in total, and I’m small enough to catch so uh… can you be on standby to grab me if something happens?” Tony asked; he could tell that he had been rambling, but it didn’t seem to have bothered Steve any.

“Alright…” Steve said reluctantly. “Did you need me now, or are you and Jarvis still running calculations?”

“Now is fine. Now is great actually. I’ll go get Jarvis to suit me up.”

Tony threw himself down off the arm of the couch and scurried towards the armor platform, trying not to slip on the concrete beneath his feet; it would be nice if Steve didn’t have to scrap him off the floor this time. His nails clicked loudly on the floor as he moved, drowning out all other sounds in the workshop. He stood underneath the new arm hooked up to the Peeler that would attach the Iron Dog to his body and peered up at it; he had no fear of the arm and he put trust in Jarvis and technology to keep it that way. There had only been a few things in his life that he’d completely trusted before he’d met Steve; Jarvis and technology had been the only things on that list, aside from Dummy, Pepper and Rhodey that is. He nodded at Dummy, who zoomed past him poking with a rigid finger at the console to Tony’s left, powering the machine up without another gesture on Tony’s part. Dummy was used to doing this, even if it had been for Tony and the Iron Man instead of the new Iron Dog. Dummy probably didn’t know the difference.

“Ok, Jarvis – protocol 17B. Slow start up – uh… wait for Steve to get up here maybe so he can grab anything that starts moving funny.” Tony said, trying to appear confidant instead of restless. He’d had leg hair catch in the armor before as a human and it had been… unpleasant to say the least. Having fur catch in between the plating would probably be much, much worse.

Steve moved quickly to Tony’s side, standing next to the silver mechanical arm that had come up from a hole in the machine’s base to attach the armor; he studied it suspiciously, as if he expected it to grab Tony and rip his head off despite Tony’s attempts at explaining it to him. Tony chuckled inwardly at Steve’s paranoia and nodded once more, this time to Jarvis’ cameras. The machine started up and he was carefully sealed within the Iron Dog prototype armor; the arm whirred around him attaching parts one at a time with surgical precision, each part covered in glossy polished silver. He winced when the fur around his face was pinched in the neckline of the suit, and relaxed from his flinch when Jarvis adjusted and compensated for it; the fur slipped free from the plating. Thank god for smart AI butlers, Tony thought with a grin.

Steve looked down at him and whistled, hands resting on his hips.

“Impressive.” He said. Steve kneeled down and tapped on the armor, fingers sliding along the smooth contours of the polished metal running his hands over everything in range. Tony grinned his best shit-eating grin, amused by the way Steve was paying such close attention to him. He debated on getting Jarvis to give him his prototype helmet to _really_ give Steve something to be impressed with and then decided against it, not wanting to risk mashing any more fur into any more metal then was strictly necessary. While looking really cool, the helmet was just an added hassle at this point. This was just a test run for the repulsors. The helmet wouldn’t really be required until he was doing test runs for flight, flying through the sky; he couldn’t wait until it got to that stage. He’d really been aching to head back out into the sky once more.

“Armor power is set to three percent. Repulsors are online and functioning within optimum levels with no sign of any problems. The arc reactor is operating at optimum levels as well. Repulsor strength is set to one percent for testing. Whenever you are ready sir.” Jarvis stated methodically.

Tony nodded to Steve, who nodded nervously back at him, and then Jarvis turned the repulsors on remotely. He shot up into the air, flying level with Steve’s shoulder and then swayed in mid-air, legs kicking out beneath him as if he were walking on ice instead of battling with the air. He drifted towards Steve, unable to control his flight path; Steve’s arms wrapped around the armor, holding Tony steady. Tony let out a held in whoop and grinned so hard that his face started to hurt, feet leveling out at last. He was careful to angle the replusors away from Steve so that he didn’t accidentally burn his clothing or scorch his skin.

“Well this certainly went better than the first time I made the repulsors for the Iron Man. At least I didn’t smash into the ceiling this time.” Tony babbled cheerfully. Steve’s hand gripped him a little tighter at that. Tony couldn’t feel it physically, but the armor’s internal alarms went off, chirping shrilly. Tony sighed to himself; the Iron Dog was definitely not as defensive as the Iron Man – he would have to work on improving the structural integrity before he took it out for a real test spin. It was a real pity; he itched to see what flight would be like when not tethered.

“God, Tony – _you hit the ceiling_?!” Steve gaped, eyes wide and terrified. Tony nodded warily.

“Well it wasn’t _too_ bad – I didn’t even hit hard enough for a concussion, so there wasn’t really any need for concern. Anyways, back to the task at hand. Release me if you will, good sir, I wish to try and do a slow hover around the room – preferably not over the cars again this time… I can still smell the scent of paint bubbling from last time… ugh.”

“Tony…”

“Steve.”

Steve sighed and although he didn’t seem to want to do it, dutifully released Tony into the world; Tony drifted away, repulsors flaring brilliantly in comparison with the fluorescent lighting dripping down from the fixtures above. Tony tested the range of movement in his legs, flexing the knees. It was easier to pilot the Iron Dog as if he were attempting to crawl around on hands and knees. He straightened up, trying for an upright human-like position and swayed, legs swinging as he leveled out, before dropping back down into his four legged form.

“Levels indicate that this is the optimum power necessary for flight in this suit sir. Would you like to test your repulsor blasts now, or would you prefer to return to the ground sir?” Jarvis asked. Steve hovered near Tony, hands held out underneath to catch him in case of a cut in power to the suit. It was adorable to see him so intent in keeping Tony from crashing into the ground; his expression was so severe that Tony could have sworn Steve was back in Captain America mode.

“I think I’m good for now Jarvis – I need to work on some other things before testing repulsor blasts anyways, and the important parts are calibrated now, so I think we’re all done here.” Tony said. “Cut power please.” Jarvis obliged and Tony dropped like a rock. He intended to hit the ground without Steve’s help so that he could test the shock absorbers and suspension; Steve snagged him out of the air before his feet could touch down and Tony grunted, wanting to tell Steve to knock it off. Steve carried him warily back to the Peeler, and Tony was placed gingerly on the centre of the platform. The arm descended with a command from Tony and he was soon free of the armor; Steve watched the machine with mistrust in his eyes the entire time despite it having been successful in getting Tony into the armor in the first place. Tony trotted free, intending to move past Steve so that he could go back to his table to continue working. He strode while shaking his entire body to rearrange his flattened fur, and then found himself suddenly scooped up again and cradled against Steve’s chest.

“Uh… Steve?” Tony questioned warily.

“It’s lunch time Tony.” Steve said, as if that answered anything. He carried Tony towards the door, humming softly to himself. Jarvis dimmed the lights and saved all of the days’ work without being asked; Jarvis had somehow fallen into Steve’s palm like all of the others. Tony looked back at everything forlornly as they went up the stairs.

 

Steve set Tony down on the floor in the kitchen and then went about preparing lunch for them both, still humming to himself. Tony watched him, trying to appear casual about it even though his heart was doing flip flops; none of the other Avengers had taken him upstairs for lunch, and they’d only given token protests when supper time had rolled around, choosing to have food brought down to them instead of taking him upstairs to eat. Steve always seemed to take time out of his day to make sure that Tony was taken care of; it made him feel a little warmer inside.

Steve began rooting around in the fridge, looking for leftovers that he had put inside the previous evening, bending over. Tony looked away, unsure just how much a blush would show up on a dog’s face. Steve’s rear end was godly. Tony would have made it his wallpaper if he’d been able to convince Jarvis to take a picture of it, perhaps bare and wet from the shower. He tried not to drool at _that_ nice piece of mental imagery; he was acting like a hormonal teenager, and cursed himself. Steve found what he was looking for in the fridge and straightened up, closing the door with his heel. He set everything he had taken from the fridge down on the counter and then opened up the freezer, pulling out the bag of frozen vegetables from underneath a teetering stack of Thor’s frozen strawberry filled waffles. He opened the bag and grabbed a fistful of the frozen cubed veggies, dropping them into Tony’s food bowl before he began searching the kitchen counter for the kibble bag; he found it wedged behind the cookie jar. Tony had attempted to bribe Clint into hiding the bag somewhere good, and Natasha always seemed to sniff it out and put it back where Steve left it after every meal. The cookie jar was a good place it seemed, because Steve frowned at it suspiciously, not having thought it would be near that particular jar. Tony let out a loud sigh of disappointment and flattened against the floor. So it was to be death by kibble yet again. He closed his eyes, listening to the soft sounds of Steve mixing his food, thinking about how Steve had looked bending over once more. He had been catching himself noticing these things more and more frequently, often gazing whenever Steve wandered out of the room, following him with his eyes. Natasha had given him a flick to the ears when she caught him doing it the first time; he hadn’t really gotten any better at concealing the staring even with her now constant abuse. Luckily for him, Steve still seemed pretty oblivious to his staring.

The grey and beige bowl he had learned to hate settled in front of Tony and his nose wrinkled; His nose picked up a slight variation in the normal scents that wafted from within. Something _meaty_ was in that bowl; something that wouldn’t normally be considered dog food by Steve. He opened one eye and beheld Steve smiling down at him. Suspicious, Tony stood up and poked his snout into the bowl, peering down at his lunch. A piece of chicken breast with barbeque sauce on it was lying on top of the dry kibbles; to Tony, it was as if he had found a five star dinner balanced precariously on a plate in a dumpster. He began to eat, almost choking in his haste, and was chided by Steve, who settled down in the soft chair beside him. Steve munched on a sandwich that he’d prepared from the rest of the leftover chicken.

“So… The suit is pretty much ready then?” Steve asked between mouthfuls of sandwich.

“Yep. All that’s left is tweaking it, really, and then I’ll be able to go on missions again.” Tony felt gleeful. He swallowed another mouthful of precious chicken and licked his lips, tasting the tangy barbeque sauce. Steve swallowed another bite, seeming to savor it, and then set his sandwich reluctantly down on the plate.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea actually.” Steve stated, a little more firmly than Tony liked; he had composed himself in his Captain America voice.

Tony’s eyes narrowed into slits. He looked sharply away from his food and up at Steve. What was Steve playing at? Had this been the point all along? Build Tony back up and then tear him down again? His fur bristled and he backed up from the food bowl, the chicken tasting like chalk in his mouth.

Steve saw his reaction and waved at him, alarmed, trying to calm him. “ _No_ I don’t mean that you can’t use it at _all_ – obviously in an emergency we’ll need all the help we can get, I’m just thinking about what you said earlier – the stuff you told Bruce about the arc reactor possibly not being there – “ Steve pulled at his hands, not looking happy about what he was saying.

Tony’s distress lessened by half; he had an answer and he’d already worked this problem out.

“We’ve fixed that – the arc reactor can snap into my usual reactor’s port. We modified it so it can be expanded into the larger connection port. I’ll be fine.” Tony growled.

“That’s not really the problem though – Tony…” Steve sighed, leaned back in the chair, looking up at the ceiling as he collected his thoughts.

“What happens if you turn back and you’re inside the Iron Dog suit?” Steve asked quietly. He drummed his fingers on the table and then looked back at Tony, who was staring stubbornly at the floor while he attempted to find a way to fight against Steve’s newest argument.

“I can rebuild the armor – I can make it detach and pop apart if my mass changes inside – “ Tony began, feeling both nervous and excited at the same time. He could adapt the armor easily to snap apart. It was manageable, just like the rest of his problems.

“Tony. What if you’re flying up in the air above all of us?” Steve said, leaning down low to look him in the eye.

“Thor can catch me – “

“What if Thor isn’t around? What if he’s in the middle of fighting with Loki or some other super villain and he isn’t there to catch you?”

“Then you can catch me. I trust you Steve.” Tony blurted.

Steve blushed at that, but didn’t look one bit reassured.

“Tony. You could drop to your death or you could be squeezed into the suit and end up like some kind of… sausage filler… I don’t think it’s a very good idea to be using the suit unless it’s absolutely necessary.” Steve said kindly; it felt as if he was explaining to a child where their pet had gone after they had found it ‘sleeping’ in its tank. The bottom had dropped out, just like it always did.

“Well what am I supposed to do with it then? Huh? What good am I – “ Tony snapped suddenly losing his temper, striking at the bowl in front of him with his front paw. The bowl skidded across the floor and bumped against Steve’s foot, making him frown.

“Tony. Listen to me. I’m not saying that you can’t use it. I’m saying that you can’t use it unless there is an emergency and it can’t be avoided.” Steve repeated with a sigh, toing the foot bowl back towards Tony, who kicked at it viciously again, sending it flying back into Steve’s toes. Steve winced despite it not having hurt him at all.

“Tony.”

Tony knew that realistically, Steve was right. He hadn’t calculated the probabilities of injury or enough of the scenarios that could happen to him and the new suit. He hadn’t thought of all the possibilities! It was infuriating! His dog mind really wasn’t as smart as his human one and it felt as if he was light years behind everyone else’s thinking. It had probably been a _miracle_ that he’d managed to figure out how to repurpose the Iron Man blueprints into the Iron Dog ones in the first place. He scratched at the kitchen floor, feeling as if everything had been yanked out from under him yet again. He knew that Steve was right; he couldn’t help wanting Steve to be wrong though. The truth left a bitter taste in his mouth. Then, Steve did something that surprised Tony. Steve reached down and scooped him up. Tony cringed at this, wanting to run off to yet again hide under another unoccupied bed; this time he wouldn’t come out – they’d have to drag him –

Steve set him down in the centre of his lap and began to stroke Tony’s head, oozing calm and confidence as he began to massage Tony’s ears.

“It’s not fair that you can’t use the armor. I know. But think of it this way – you did all of that down in the workshop despite being trapped like this.” Steve patted Tony’s head and continued. “You did a good job Tony. You did. You’re not useless. Don’t you see that?” Steve said, stroking a smooth line down Tony’s back. Tony didn’t turn around. Didn’t want to face Steve – didn’t want to see the sympathetic expression on his face which would burn another hole through Tony’s heart.

“Then what am I supposed to do now? There’s always going to be some kind of problem when I turn back into a human – the arc reactor might not be there. I might be left with a hole in my chest and without the suit’s reactor there I’ll be just as dead. What do I do then?” Tony huffed, struggling against Steve’s hands. He couldn’t break free. Steve’s grip tightened, holding him in place with a gentleness Tony was unfamiliar with.

“That is a possibility. Can you arrange for someone to have access to your spare reactors so that you can have one around just in case?” Steve asked soothingly. Tony stopped his squirming, thinking.

“They’re in my vault downstairs – the passcode is 7dk910004b.” Tony said. He felt strangely warm just revealing the passcode in the first place – the only people who knew it were his closest friends. Telling the code to Steve was like bringing him in past all of his internal barriers. He wasn’t sure how Steve would feel if he knew about that; he internally flinched.

Steve’s hands loosened on him. Tony pitched forwards, almost falling off of Steve’s lap. He scrambled to keep his place on Steve and turned, looking in confusion up at Steve. Steve looked as if he had hit Mach five without any warning. He noticed Tony’s awkward scrambled position and embarrassedly pulled him back safely onto the centre of his lap, a pink flush creeping its way across his face; he tried to squash his emotions and he cleared his throat, looking away from Tony.

“What?” Tony asked, unsure and slightly worried. Had he said something wrong?

“It’s… I didn’t think that you trusted me enough to give me that kind of information.” Steve said, voice squeaking at the end.

Tony frowned at Steve’s response.

“I told you, I trust you. You’re not some kind of psycho Steve – you’re Captain America. It’s not like you’d do something like steal them all and sell them on the black market.” Tony grunted, resting his head on Steve’s thigh. Steve stiffened and swallowed hard, still not making eye contact.

“Besides… you always look out for my sorry ass, so who better to look out for my heart?” Tony joked, trying to go for soft and humorous. He felt Steve stiffen further beneath him and realized that the joke hadn’t eased any tension in the super soldier at all; it had added to it instead unintentionally. Tony stood up and circled once in Steve’s lap, standing up on his back feet to rest his paws on either side of Steve’s head. Steve’s expression was grim; it was all Tony’s fault. Tony moved without thinking – he noticed some barbeque sauce on the corner of Steve’s mouth and some on his ear. He reacted, tongue sweeping against Steve’s soft cheek.

Steve squawked, eyes widening as Tony’s little pink tongue swiped against his face again, sweeping away the remainder of the sauce. Tony moved from Steve’s lip to the side of his face where the barbeque sauce was smeared on the edge of his ear and began to work at that spot, tongue rough against smooth skin.

“Tony!” Steve gasped, the pink returning to his face, this time in darker magenta.

Tony grinned and finished cleaning Steve’s ear, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder, very aware that his front paws were still resting on opposite sides of Steve’s head. He leaned against Steve, careful not to put too much pressure on him. Steve’s hands moved up and settled on Tony’s torso but didn’t push him away.

“Sorry – I smelled barbeque sauce. Couldn’t help myself.” Tony said sheepishly. He snuffled at Steve’s shoulder, licking at a spot of sauce on the t-shirt’s fabric.

“How the hell do you get sauce on your ear anyways Rogers?” Tony asked. It had been a risky move to lick Steve – he’d counted on it being casual and dog-like enough to remove Steve’s discomfort, but it could have just as easily have backfired and ended up with him being thrown across the room like a furry football by a very unhappy super soldier. The tension left Steve’s body as each slow second ticked by; Tony remained pressed against his shoulder. Steve leaned a little into the half embrace, chin just touching the soft fluff on the top of Tony’s head. Steve’s fingers began to stroke Tony’s back again, moving without conscious thought, and he smiled slightly, lips curling against Tony’s fur.

“You’re horrible, you know that?” Steve said finally, laughing.

“Yep.” Tony quipped, eyes half closing as Steve’s warmth began to seep into his fur. He could just curl up and bask in the warm glow of Steve’s body and forget about everything wrong in the world.

“What were we talking about again? Before you were distracting?” Steve chuckled, shaking his head.

“I believe we were discussing what I’m going to be doing with the rest of my days since working on the armor now is kind of pointless.” Tony said, trying to keep the heavy disappointment out of his voice. Steve straightened a little, pulling away, and Tony regretted having said anything at all. He could just as easily have stayed there resting against Steve for the rest of time if given the chance.

“Well…” Steve said, setting Tony down on the floor in front of his food dish once more, “I suppose we could go for a walk in the park. We can throw around a Frisbee – well, I can throw one around and you can uh… try to catch it?”

“Sounds good to me. Can we go now?”

“Eat your lunch Tony.”

“Eat YOUR lunch Steve.” Tony grumbled, head half buried back in his food bowl to keep Steve from seeing the stupid grin that had broken out across his face. This time when he rushed while eating, it was because he couldn’t wait to go spend more time with Steve, and not because the food tasted heavenly. He could have sworn that Steve was eating faster too, he would have bet money on it.

 

 

The ‘sunny outdoors’ that Steve often spoke of were much brighter than Tony had given them credit for. He’d been outside before, but it was bright out today, very bright actually. Tony wasn’t used to being out in the ‘splendor of nature’ (as Clint sarcastically called it), and it seemed far too bright for his eyeballs to stand at first. He wanted to find a dimmer switch, or to perhaps change the brightness of the sun itself. He joked about this and the fact that he was surprised his eyes hadn’t liquefied yet with Steve, who merely gave him an I-am-listening-but-think-you-are-crazy look and continued to walk beside him. Steve had insisted on changing into his ‘outdoors’ clothing for this event and was now dressed in one of his super tight blue shirts and a pair of khaki pants. Tony had graciously allowed Steve to put the harness and leash on him this time and hadn’t stirred up a fuss, relishing the way Steve’s hands felt running through his fur. He didn’t even mind when Steve had started jogging down the driveway and had gladly sprinted to catch up, little feet surprisingly able to keep pace with Steve’s large ones. He was surprised at the amount of energy his dog form had stored away for things like running and jumping; he conserved it like how the human Tony had conserved caffeine. As a human, Tony had gotten tired after a brisk jog around the block – sometimes, he had gotten tired just _watching_ Steve through the window when he went out at the crack of dawn for his morning run.

Tony took full advantage of the surplus energy and increased his pace, moving well ahead of Steve, who raised an eyebrow at this in amusement but didn’t comment otherwise. Tony focused on their surroundings on the run, Steve paying attention to the trees and various power poles as Tony swerved them both in and out of a mixture of objects that appeared in front of him. He enjoyed tangling the leash and found it endlessly amusing to entangle Steve. Tony went in circles around Steve’s legs to try and trip him; Steve laughed at him and chuckled out a few Tony – no’s. Steve actually cursed aloud when a particularly short pole managed to catch the loop end of the leash as Tony ran around ahead of him. Tony nearly flew backwards into it, literally leaving the ground when the leash snapped him backwards. He sheepishly waited while Steve untangled them and they continued along the bike path leading to the park, gravel crunching underneath their feet. Tony had never been to this park before – he very rarely went outside his house as a human unless Happy was driving him somewhere, and walking had never been one of his hobbies. Sure, he trained and worked out in the gym within the mansion, but he never really devoted his entire attention to working out or to fitness either, really. Muscles were nice to look at and all, but he’d rather be working on something in his workshop, or running his fingers over those muscles on someone else’s body.

They approached the park with Tony sprinting ahead in the lead, Steve trailing behind him, not nearly as winded as Tony had hoped he would be.

Tony was stunned at how green and smelly everything was outside. He’d noticed that his body could pick up many more fragrances than his human nose had been able to pick up – he’d had a few moments with Bruce where he’d had to politely point out that the scientist could use MAYBE a few showers which had resulted in his having to hide underneath the kitchen table for three hours while the Hulk tried to ‘find pretty fluffy toy’. The smells radiating from the surroundings were amazing and out in the open air everything funnelled towards him on the wind. He could pick up individual flowers off in the distance and the grass – oh the grass! He’d bottle that smell if he could, so fresh and clean! He waited impatiently while Steve took the leash off and let him run free around in the chest high grass (to Steve it was more like ankle high) and Tony was in _heaven_. He rolled – he would be ashamed to admit it later when Steve saw the grass stains in his white fur – in the grass and dug in the grass with his paws while Steve read from the signs that listed the various rules for this particular dog park, his back turned to Tony’s antics.

Tony jumped up from a gleeful roll when another dog, an overweight golden retriever with a saggy belly, approached at a slow waddle and tried to sniff him. He heard a ‘Tony…’ warning from Steve when he tensed, preparing for battle and reluctantly allowed himself to be sniffed. He planned to find the name of the dog’s owner somehow so that he could bankrupt them as penance for the embarrassment. He behaved himself, looking out of the corner of his eye to observe Steve chatting with the slim brunette who was the owner of the chubby retriever. He wanted to be less jealous of them, chatting amongst themselves while he was left to deal with Mr. No-Such-Thing-As-Personal-Space Retriever. It was pretty hard to dwell on that for long when he was almost lifted up into the air as the dog began to sniff between his legs. He’d have kicked the other dog in the face if he’d have been able to get away with it; Steve would have probably been angry with him, so he held himself in check.

He rolled away from the retriever’s nose and ran towards Steve, sitting patiently at his feet, glaring up at the woman. She cooed and smiled at him, asking Steve if she could pet him; he was so _cute_ she said. She didn’t seem to be able to get over that fact, and kept making kissy noises at him. Steve told her that it was alright – Tony was a good dog and he was _very well behaved_. Tony had to bite his lip to keep from commenting on that, and allowed the woman to fondle his soft ears for a few moments before he grabbed the Frisbee from Steve’s hand and ran off, cackling silently to himself as Steve grumbled and shook his fist at him, smiling.

The Frisbee was beige and brand new with the little yellow price tag still stuck to the top of it. Tony chewed on it experimentally, feeling the rubber bend and warp under the delicate pressure of his jaw and teeth. He had never spent time chewing anything other than food before – well, not since he had been little and had been still putting whatever he could grab into his mouth to examine it more thoroughly. The things he put in his mouth as an adult generally didn’t appreciate extreme chewing. It was strange to be gnawing on a Frisbee, but it was satisfying in a way he couldn’t describe, so he continued to do it until the Frisbee was abruptly grabbed by Steve, who tugged at it.

“Gimme.”

Tony released the plastic disc and sat back on his heels, watching Steve closely. Steve gestured with the Frisbee and then gave it a light toss – or at least, Tony was pretty sure it had been _intended_ as a light toss. The thing sailed up over the top of Tony’s head and careened fifteen feet away into a tree where it ricocheted and then collided with a garbage can, knocking it over. Impressive, considering that the Frisbee wasn’t anything close to the shield’s size, and that it weighed only a few ounces in comparison. Tony took off after it while Steve stood scratching his head, trying to nonchalantly brush the accidental throw off as bad luck while the woman he had been talking to began to laugh. Chubby retriever saw that Tony was running and decided to waddle towards him, the ball he had just retrieved forgotten, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth; drool hung in a shiny blob from his lip.

Tony saw the drool. He saw and feared it. He accelerated, reached the Frisbee and snatched it up, speeding around the fallen garbage can. He tore through the grass before Chubby could turn around to chase after him and dove between Steve’s legs, zipping around him in a slothful figure eight. Steve snatched the Frisbee back from him as he circled and pitched it again. This time, the Frisbee hovered above the ground and Tony was able to run alongside it, snatching it out of the air with a quick jump. He returned to Steve, who took the Frisbee yet again and pitched it further.

Tony sped up, little legs flailing madly, and jumped for the Frisbee as it sailed up above him. Unfortunately this time he wasn’t watching, and suddenly Chubby was right in his way. He bounced off of Chubby’s gut and rolled backwards, still managing in his awkward tumble to catch the Frisbee. He grinned at Steve and then Chubby’s drool snapped free and struck him in the face. He dropped the Frisbee, horrified, and began to rub his muzzle into the grass, trying to wipe away the spittle, absolutely disgusted. He looked up, grass stuck to the side of his head, and saw that Steve was laughing, holding his sides as if he were about to die from it. The bastard even had the gall to wipe tears from his eyes.

Tony glowered at him and retrieved the dropped Frisbee from its place in the grass. Chubby waddled along behind him, tail wagging happily, oblivious. Tony turned and glared at him, but the look only seemed to encourage Chubby, and soon Tony was sprinting to get out of Chubby’s way as the retriever freight trained towards him and Steve, fat jiggling as he ran.

Tony dropped the Frisbee at Steve’s feet and sprinted away, making for the very edge of the grass. He heard Steve calling out in surprise as Chubby collided with his legs, bowling him over. Tony cackled to himself, and sped back, zooming into a jump that sent him over Steve’s head. Chubby’s owner apologized profusely to Steve, who waved it off, trying to explain that he should have been watching and that it wasn’t Chubby’s fault. She grabbed Chubby and dragged him away as he tried to get back to Steve, who slowly pulled himself up off of the ground, dusting himself off. He gave Tony a dirty look but laughed when he saw the way Tony was looking at him.

Soon the Frisbee sailed up over Tony’s head again, flying higher than it had before. Chubby broke free from his owner’s grasp and waddled back towards them. Tony had to lunge, using Chubby as a spring board; he sailed further than ever to catch the edge of the Frisbee. He landed softly in the grass, rolling backwards and trotted back to Steve, obscenely pleased with himself for reasons he couldn’t fathom.

 

It was fun despite the fact that Chubby continued to follow him around the park like a ball and chain. He and Steve spent what felt like hours throwing and retrieving the Frisbee. Tony couldn’t remember ever having spent so much time at play before in a park with _anyone_. As a child, his mother had never had the time to take him and Jarvis always went with him in her stead. Jarvis had tried to be fun, but he’d been very against Tony getting dirty, so he had been stuck playing with the swings and the teeter-totter only. When Jarvis died, there had been no one to take him anymore. It had been hard losing Jarvis, but by then he had already been in boarding school and was off in another world entirely; a world filled with papers and physics and electrical engineering that took all of his time and never left him. The dreams of playing in the park seemed like a lifetime ago.

He panted as he followed Steve to the nearest of the warped wooden benches that bordered the asphalt sidewalks. Steve sat down, sprawling, and Tony jumped up into his lap, settling as calmly. He felt tired – tired in a good, happy, way. Steve wrinkled his nose when he petted Tony, one of his hands coming back to him covered in fur from the sweat on his palms. He chuckled, wiping his hand on his pants and caressed Tony’s forehead with his thumb.

“That was fun.” Tony said, once he was sure everyone else in the park was out of hearing range. Steve leaned back against the bench, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

“Yeah. I haven’t spent a day like this in a long time. Not since before the serum.” Steve said, eyeing the ice cream cart being pushed by an older gentleman as it moved closer. It slowly made its way towards them along the walkway, the man huffing and puffing in the heat. Steve looked down at Tony, who grinned up at him, and laughed again, wiping a bead of sweat off of his forehead.

“I guess we’re getting ice cream, huh?” Steve asked, digging in his pockets for his wallet. Tony hopped off of him and Steve rose, approaching the ice cream trolley with Tony bounding at his heels the whole way. Steve ordered two vanilla cones and they waited patiently together as the man took Steve’s money and carefully began to mold two perfect sets of round ice cream balls, pressing them into soft wafer cones. Steve took both cones from the man, thanking him, and they made their way back to their bench. Tony jumped up to sit down next to Steve, who held the cone out to him, and they ate together. Tony licked at the ice cream sideways while Steve tried to eat his own one handed, he laughed at Tony the whole time, almost incapable of stopping. Tony bit into the ice cream causing it to wobble in the wafer cone; the scoop broke free from its brethren and tumbled down to clunk him on the head with a wet thump. He tried to reach the ice cream with his tongue, tilting his head to get it to slide back towards his mouth so he could finish it off and groaned in frustration when it bypassed his mouth entirely and dropped with a sullen plop onto the bench beam instead. “So messy…” Steve chuckled, wiping at Tony with a napkin he had produced from somewhere in his pockets. The paper napkin stuck to the top of Tony’s head and they looked at each other, roaring with laughter, as the napkin flapped there in the breeze.

The sun began to drop lower on the horizon; Tony watched it, ice cream forgotten as the orange beams streak across the sky, melting into yellow and darkness. Tony felt Steve attempting to wipe at his fur again and shook, dislodging a blob of stubborn ice cream; which promptly stuck to the side of Steve’s face.

“Thank you. That’s lovely! Nice job Tony.” Steve muttered, wiping at the ice cream on his face, still smiling. The ice cream cone he had been eating teetered in his hand and fell; despite his super soldier reflexes, both cones ended up upside down stuck to the bench. Steve looked down at the bench in dismay, annoyed that they had made such a mess.

“Looks like a Madonna video…” Tony joked. Steve blinked at him in confusion. Tony simply grinned back at him.

“Never mind – pop culture reference – not important. If you want I can lick the bench clean. I can do that now without looking like a crazy person.” Tony said, opening his mouth to mime taking a bite of the fallen cones.

Steve snorted in amusement and rolled his eyes, daubing at the bench. He cleared away the debris of the cones with his free hand, tossing the mess into the green metal garbage can beside the bench and dusted his hands off. He reluctantly pulled Tony’s leash out of his pocket after. Tony found himself pouting. He didn’t really want to leave when there was still so much they could do outside. Steve chuckled again and attached the clasp to the harness, tugging Tony down from the bench to the ground.

“Come on – Let’s go home. It’s getting dark and we’ve got dinner to eat.”

Tony followed him as they started down the road back to the mansion, wondering how a single day could end so amusing and depressing at the same time.

 


	3. Chapter 3

When they arrived back to the mansion, Steve was adamant that Tony stand still so that he could look him over to make sure that they weren’t tracking anything into the house. Tony happily let Steve pull the harness from him and then permitted himself to be flipped upside down and turned around while Steve inspected his fur from every possible angle.

“Why are you green?” Steve asked, looking bewilderedly at the grass stains on Tony’s belly fur.

“Magic?” Tony grinned.

“ _Tony_ …”

“I may have rolled in some grass earlier…” Tony admitted sheepishly.

“You’re green!” Steve complained, lifting Tony up so that he could look at his feet. Tony hung briefly in the air upside down, Steve’s strong hands under his back, holding him steady. His tongue lolled out of his side of his mouth.

“It’s just a little grass, Steve, relax.”

“You’re filthy…”

Steve harrumphed and righted Tony. He slipped Tony under one arm as he hung the leash up and then tucked him against his chest again. He made his way through the living room where Clint and Bruce were watching TV eating pizza; they gave Steve a wave as he passed and then went back to the television without speaking, mouths stuffed with pizza. Steve made his way into the large communal bathroom across the hall, carrying a now disgruntled Tony. Steve closed the bathroom door behind him and set Tony down on the off white floor, rolling up his pant legs and depositing his wallet up on the counter.

“Steve… What are you doing?” Tony asked slowly, looking around the room with slightly wider than normal eyes.

“Giving you a bath. You’re green for god’s sake!” Steve grumbled over his shoulder. He rummaged under the cupboard and pulled out a plastic bag filled with dog grooming supplies that had been stashed inside. He began to separate the shampoo and brushes, lining them up on the counter. Tony suddenly felt very nervous. Steve was going to give him a bath. Steve. Bath. Steve in the bath. With him. His mind drifted off to a very different kind of Steve in the bath with him – one that had much more skin and a much more human Tony and he shook his head roughly, trying to get the mental imagery of a soaped up super soldier out of his mind. He looked around the room, not sure yet whether he wanted to escape or not. The idea of Steve lathering him up was appealing in so many ways… He watched Steve determinedly sort through the three types of shampoo that he’d bought from the pet store and then decided on a whim that he’d just have to just sit there and allow himself to be manhandled. It was that, or make Steve angry with him for being a brat – although, the submitting and playing nice didn’t mean that he couldn’t have fun with Steve – bubbles were meant to be played with and Tony was nothing if not creative.

Steve lifted a metal pronged brush from the pile of brushes (he’d organized everything into separate piles and each one had their own space on the counter) and knelt down. He started dragging the brush through Tony’s matted and sweat-tangled fur, lips pursed. Tony winced as the brush pulled and yanked at his fur, dragging him every which way as Steve held him steady with one hand and brushed with the other; the tip of Steve’s tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he worked at a particularly stubborn knot. Tony felt like giggling. He grinned at Steve and Steve rolled his eyes at him, still fighting with the knot.

“Having fun?” Tony asked, jerked to the side as the knot finally came undone.

“These knots are almost as stubborn as you are…” Steve commented dryly, finally pulling the brush free. He placed it on the floor and picked up another one with tighter tines and dragged that one through Tony’s fur, pulling a large amount of loose hair with every stroke. He plucked the hair from the brush when he was done and stacked it on top of the other brush and then stood up, grabbing the shampoo and went about preparing the tub.

Tony stood up on his back feet beside Steve, looking into the bathtub, curiosity getting the better of him. He watched through the steam as clear water filled up the tub a few inches at a time, fascinated by the way the liquid pooled. He hadn’t taken a bath since he’d been kidnapped… He eyed the water cautiously, seeing his reflection bob around in front of him. He yelped when Steve lifted him up from behind and stepped into the tub. He sat down on the edge of the tub, feet in the warm water. Tony hung precariously from Steve’s hands, struggling to pull himself up into Steve’s dry and safe lap wanting to get as far away from the standing water as he could. Steve eyed him, frowning in concern, and then settled Tony on his lap, clearly confused by Tony’s reaction.

“Is this a dog thing? You don’t want to take a bath?” Steve asked, turning his body to shut off the tap. He accidentally elbowed the shampoo bottle off the edge of the bathtub and it dropped in with a splash, bobbing in the water. The water was steaming but not overly hot now. The bottle of shampoo floated around the plugged drain, bobbing along with each wave of water as Steve wiggled his toes underwater.

Tony choked back a panicked whimper. He collected himself, reminding himself that he was not being drowned – there was no one here trying to kill him and there was no car battery hooked up to his chest – there was nothing to be afraid of here. He looked up apologetically at Steve’s concerned face.

“Sorry… Just lost my cool there for a second. I haven’t been in an actual bath since… uh… unimportant really – Just uh… I’ll be fine. Look.” Tony mumbled incoherently. He slipped free of Steve’s grasp and steeled himself, dropping down into the water. He hit the bottom of the tub with a splash and felt the warmth dripping down from his fur, pulling it down tight to cling around his legs and belly. He shivered, trying to push away the thoughts of being shoved underwater; of being held down until he had run out of breath and choked on water rushing into his lungs. He watched his reflection flicker across the top of the water for a moment and tried to slow his breathing, wanting to calm down.

Steve grabbed a small bucket and began to slowly empty the contents over Tony’s back. Tony flinched hard and began to shiver, feeling cold despite the obvious warmth of the water around him. Steve’s hand dropped to the top of his head again, stroking his fur in an attempt to calm him.

“Tony… What’s wrong?”

Tony looked up into Steve’s concerned eyes and swallowed hard, barely holding back the taste of bile.

“Uh… I’m not sure if I want to tell you yet… give me a minute…” He choked out and then looked away, not wanting to see the growing disappointment and resentment he dreaded was spreading across Steve’s face.

“Can I keep pouring water over you? Or do you need some time?” Steve asked softly. He dipped the bucket under the water again, leaving it sitting on the floor of the tub half-filled so that it wouldn’t float off. Tony remained silent, contemplating the situation at hand. He hadn’t told anyone about what had happened in Afghanistan. He was too ashamed to admit that he’d been having nightmares and that he couldn’t even look at standing water anymore without retching. He wasn’t sure why he was so ashamed; he just knew that admitting it meant that he’d fucked something else up again. It felt too much like an admission of failure to think about other people knowing about it. Pepper and Rhodey both hadn’t asked; they didn’t even ask why he got so nervous around the ocean now when he had practically lived on the beach before it had all happened.

Steve might be alright with it though, Tony thought. Steve had listened to him babble away about how useless he was. He hadn’t judged or told him that he was being unreasonable about it. He’d listened. Tony took in a shaky break and looked up at Steve, who was waiting for him with his hands cradled on his lap, khaki pants stained dark with water.

“When I was in Afghanistan… I got kidnapped. Did you know that?” Tony said, thoughts coming out muddled; it was hard to organize the events all of a sudden. Steve shook his head quietly, watching Tony, his hands now clenched on his pants.

“Ok, well… uh when I was in Afghanistan I got kidnapped. I was there for a work thing – a demonstration of some of the Stark Industries weaponry. I used to make bombs back then and I kind of… got hit by one by accident and took a chest full of shrapnel, which was… lovely. Luckily I was with a doctor – nice guy, name of Yinsen – You would have liked him. It was lucky that he was there really. Lucky for me, not so much for him. Anyways, he got most of the shrapnel out, but some of it was too close to my heart and started… drifting. It would have killed me eventually if left alone so he hooked me up to this electromagnet that was powered by this shitty old car battery to keep me alive… well… the uh… guys who took me hostage kind of used to like to uh… drown me a little when I didn’t do what they wanted… when I refused to make them their missiles… I mean, it wasn’t their only way of getting me to do what they wanted, but uh… yeah it sure was their favourite. That was when I built the arc reactor – to replace the car battery.” Tony rambled; he fell silent at the end of the admission, breathing heavy, having not having taken a single breath while he was speaking. Steve looked shocked when Tony finally managed to work up the courage to look up at him. His face was pale, and his eyes slightly wider than normal, more white than blue.

“So yeah… I don’t do so well with standing water – or with rivers...or the ocean too actually. The shower’s fine but, yeah, I don’t like the bathtub so much anymore.”

“Tony…”

“I know, I know!” Tony snapped, looking away from Steve. “It’s pathetic, I know.”

“It’s not pathetic.” Steve said softly. He reached out and lifted Tony out of the warm water, ignoring the fact that his lap was now dripping wet and set Tony down, hugging him gently.

“It is.” Tony admitted softly into Steve’s chest. “No one knows – not Pepper, not Rhodey. I didn’t want them to think that I’d fucked it all up again. I mean, they know about the arc reactor obviously… just not the circumstances behind how I got it. I have too many issues now as it is – But anyways, let’s get this over with huh? I’d rather be wet and uncomfortable than – “

“Tony…”

Tony leaned deeper into Steve’s warm, wet chest; his legs were shaking beneath him and he was anxious to be done with the whole thing.

“It must have been scary going through all of that. Drowning is awful. I’m not sure that anyone could have come out of something like that without some kind of trauma. You’re a very brave man Tony. You survived. That’s nothing to be ashamed of – it’s not a failure. You survived and made your way back home. You succeeded, you didn’t fail.” Steve said, voice trembling a little despite being soft and reassuring. Tony rested his snout against the bare flesh of Steve’s arm, shivering uncontrollably.

“I knew guys during the war that had similar experiences. I remember drowning in the cold – before I froze… Bucky also went through something similar. He would tell me about the nightmares he’d have from his time held in the Skull’s camps. Bucky would wake up screaming half the time, sweating and shaking. He didn’t like being around hospitals after we got back to the states – he’d get the same look on his face that you have right now... He just shook and shook at the sight of water.” Steve continued softly. He tried to smile, stroking the top of Tony’s head.

“You’re safe now. With me here, I mean. I won’t let anything happen to you, alright?”

Tony kept deathly still, waiting for his breathing to steady; for his heart to stop beating quite so erratically. He couldn’t hear Steve anymore; Steve’s voice had dropped back into static. Tony opened his eyes, looking down at the water, and stared at the strange, shaggy looking face reflecting back up at him. Was that really him? He strained to think about what he was supposed to look like. He hadn’t seen a mirror once since he had been trapped in the cave. Was this right? That he looked like this and not like someone else? What had he looked like before? He could remember his beard – always the beard, but what had the rest of him looked like? He’d had blue eyes before -

He snapped; thrashing so hard and fast that he was almost across the room before Steve even noticed the change in his body language. Steve slipped backwards off the flat edge of the tub and landed with an audible oomph on the small grey bath carpet, legs sticking up into the air, sprawled on his back. He righted himself slowly, like a turtle that wasn’t quite able to stand back up, and crawled his way on his hands and knees towards Tony, who cowered against the closed door with wild eyes. Tony didn’t see Steve – he could only see his captors moving closer, grinning at him sadistically with rope in their hands. They had loved to tie his hands behind his back so that he couldn’t claw at them -

“Tony.” Steve called out, keeping his voice soft and level, trying to draw Tony’s attention. Tony watched him, pressing up against the door, unable to speak or breathe. He panted, trying to draw in air, but found that there was nothing to breathe in – nothing would fill his lungs. He looked down at the laminate floor beneath his feet and began to scratch at it, as if to dig his way out under the door that wouldn’t open. The door wouldn’t open – oh god. The door wouldn’t open!

“Tony.”

Tony looked up, his entire body trembling, and saw Steve inching closer; he was now close enough to touch.

“Don’t – no. I’m – leave me alone – please don’t hurt me – please don’t – I’ll do what you want – I’ll do – “ Tony pleaded, voice cracking.

Steve drew his legs underneath himself and sat cross legged, bare toes wet and slick from the warm water. He held out a hand to Tony, the movement graceful and slow at the same time. Tony cringed, pressing closer to the door.

“Tony. It’s ok. You’re fine. No one’s going to hurt you.” Steve said.

Tony trembled. He remembered the way the guards in the cave had whispered to him about what they were going to do – about how they were going to have so much fun together. He cringed again, tucking his head into his body, sucking in air with hollow sobs of terror. It wasn’t going to be alright – they were going to put his head under again – they were going to –

Steve’s hand rested carefully on Tony’s back. Tony began to sob aloud, pressing himself tighter to the smooth wood of the bathroom door. Steve gingerly pulled Tony into his lap, cradling him there under his chin and against his stomach until the tremors began to fade and Tony’s breath stopped being sobs and became slow shallow breaths.

“Tony?”

Tony fidgeted. He waited, hoping that they would just take him –

“Just do it already.” He whimpered, voice raspy and broken.

“Tony. I’m not putting you in the water again until you’re alright.” Steve said, lifting Tony’s chin so that he could look him in the eye. Tony blinked, confused.

This was Steve. Why was Steve here in the cave – He looked around and saw that beyond the expanse of Steve’s broad muscled shoulders, there was a bathroom. A bathroom – not a cave. No stone walls here in this room, only laminate flooring, a white square bathtub partially filled with water and a porcelain toilet. Shower curtains with little flowers on them were pressed against the wall, hanging from the silver bar above the tub. Nothing here was remotely cave-like.

“Steve?” Tony asked, confused.

“Yes Tony?” Steve asked in return.

Tony struggled to put the words together, finding the previous moments impossible to recollect. He remembered something about the cave – something about the cave, and then he was in a bathroom and – oh. He’d been in the bathroom the whole time with Steve because his fur was green and Steve had wanted to give him a bath.

His cheeks flared with heat. He swallowed painfully, mortified by what had just happened.

“Shit. Sorry Steve – I’ll be good, just uh…”

“You were good Tony. It wasn’t your fault. What happened wasn’t your fault.” Steve said softly. Tony looked up at him, trying to understand just what Steve meant by that, and found that there was understanding there in the soldier’s eyes, not revulsion or shame or disappointment. He broke eye contact after a moment, finding his courage had renewed and pressed his nose into Steve’s wet t-shirt.

“Ok. I’m ok. We can try this again.” Tony said.

“You sure? We can do this later if you want – “

“No. Now is good. Now is fine. I trust you. It will be fine.”

Tony reluctantly stepped out of Steve’s lap and moved towards the bathtub. He looked at it, seeing the smooth white tub glow with heat, and jumped up, balancing on the edge. Steve rose behind him, knees pressed up against the bathtub edge directly behind Tony. He stayed there, crouched, while Tony made up his mind and finally jumped in.

The water was lukewarm now. Tony flinched at the impact and closed his eyes, standing stock still as the water in the tub sloshed around him. When he opened his eyes and looked down, he saw that it was fine. This wasn’t the water from the cave – that water had been cold and stunk of mold and blood. This water was clear and smelled vaguely of chlorine. The shampoo bottle bobbed cheerfully behind him and he glared at it for distracting him.

He laughed.

It was ridiculous that he’d been scared of the bathtub. Ridiculous! The bucket Steve had been using to dump water on him bumped against his leg and he booted it away in annoyance. Steve sat back down on the edge of the tub, feet immersed in the water once more, and plucked the bucket out of Tony’s way. He held it contemplatively, looking from Tony to the bucket and back again.

“It’s fine Steve. Dunk away.” Tony said, voice still peppered with shreds of almost hysterical laughter. Steve watched him for a moment and then scooped up another bucketful of water. He held the bucket over top of Tony’s back and looked at Tony, waiting.

“It’s ok. I said it’s ok.” Tony grumbled.

The water poured slowly down onto his back in a wave of warmth. He shivered as his fur plastered against his body and then shook without thinking. Water droplets sprayed around the room in a fine mist, striking Steve in the chest and face.

“Tony!” Steve yelped, wiping at his face, catching himself on the side of the tub as he fell backwards once more.

Tony grinned.

“Sorry. Reflexes.” He called out.

Steve struggled upright and rolled his eyes at him; the paleness had left his face and he looked more relaxed. On reflection, Tony knew that he probably looked the similar, only furrier.

The bath was uneventful after that. Steve’s hands were gentle and firm and the shampoo smelled like chocolate, which was strange because chocolate was supposed to be poisonous to dogs. It was pleasant even. Tony enjoyed the feeling of Steve massaging the gel into his fur. He liked listening to the bubbles and foam crackle on his back as they were worked into his fur and he liked the way Steve laughed when he shook again and sprayed him with foam; Steve didn’t know that Tony had done it on purpose just to hear that laugh again and again.

When they finished with the shampoo, Steve rinsed him clean with bucketful’s of water, careful to wait for Tony to be relaxed before every pour. Tony didn’t relapse during the bath. He came close to it, but each time he found that he could look at Steve and find peace within himself, and even if he was still shaking afterwards he knew it had at least gotten a little better. When they finished the bath, Steve rinsed out the tub and grabbed a fluffy green towel from the bar and began to dry Tony off; fur stuck to the towel, streaking it with splotches and tufts of white. Steve didn’t seem to mind for once, and after a while, Tony found himself falling asleep as Steve massaged his back and belly with rough hands.

Tony was still a little damp, but he couldn’t have cared less. Steve didn’t seem to notice either – either that, or he didn’t want to attempt to use the hairdryer sitting on the counter because he was afraid of its many settings.

 

Tony sat on Steve’s lap during dinner. He was pleasantly surprised when Steve kept slipping him pieces of his dinner (Tony having finished his own within a few minutes of it having hit the bowl) and enjoyed eating the squishy carrots from the takeout Chinese food Natasha had ordered. They ate together with the other Avengers laughing and fighting over the egg rolls and pot stickers.

Tony rested his head on the table, the rest of his body squished against Steve’s legs and stomach, and listened to them talk. It felt much better to be surrounded in noise. Sitting by himself in the living room in the past on his blanket had felt uncomfortable. Even when Clint had slipped him food and had come in to visit him he’d felt alone and unwanted. Here in the kitchen, it was charming and boisterous. He laughed along with Thor when Clint told a dirty joke that had Steve’s cheeks flushing. He missed hearing stories like this; he’d only had this kind of comradely with Rhodey before. He smirked when Bruce asked which movie they should watch and suggested that they watch something sci-fi. When they finally finished eating and went into the living room, he hopped up onto Steve’s lap and found that he was not only welcome there, but expected. They watched some foreign movie about aliens; Clint had picked it at random off the pay per view and they spent the rest of the night laughing hysterically at the bad CGI. He lay with Steve stroking his back, eyes drooping and slowly nodded off as the movie dragged on. They spent a few minutes in the middle arguing about what the actual point of it had been, and no one seemed to be able to guess what had been going through the writers or director’s heads. When the movie finally finished and the others clambered out of the room to crawl off to their warm beds, he slid free from Steve and started towards the kitchen, feeling lonely again knowing that he’d be sleeping in the kitchen away from everyone else.

“Hey Tony?” Steve called out from the other side of the living room. Tony looked back at him, blinking his eyes in the darkness; Steve stood beside the light switch, hand raised to flick the lights back on.

“You can sleep with me if you want –“ Steve said. His face flushed, Tony could see it despite the dark, and he clarified when it wasn’t really necessary. “You can sleep in my room if you want.”

Tony tried to be casual about this change in events. He really did. He, however, was unable to control the speed with which he ran across the room and tried to avoid skidding to a halt in front of Steve; when he collided with Steve’s legs, he felt certain that he’d blown his chance. Steve merely laughed and picked up Tony’s blanket from the armrest of the couch. He led the way upstairs to his room, pushing open the door and went about digging his pajama bottoms out of the dresser while Tony watched from a safe distance. Steve kept everything very carefully separated and labeled; everything was neat and folded, and absolutely everything had its place. Tony sat by the foot of the bed, awaiting an invitation to jump up onto the bed itself, feeling nervous. Steve slipped out of his damp shirt and pants, forgetting that Tony was in the room, and Tony looked away to give him some privacy even though he was dying to sneak a look. When Steve turned back and saw Tony, he flushed a little and then shrugged, tugging his socks off as he sat on the edge of the bed. Shirtless, Steve was an awe inspiring sight; being able to look at Steve was even more wonderful. Tony could have written ballads about the adventures those abs could have. Tony cleared his throat and looked down at his feet, shuffling in place on the carpet, trying not to zap himself with static.

“So where do you want me?” He croaked and then winced, realizing just how filthy it sounded. Steve ignored the debauchery in the comment, or maybe he pretended that he didn’t understand. Tony couldn’t tell, and he didn’t want to press the issue. Steve turned off the lights and clambered into bed, folding Tony’s blanket into a broad square with easy movements as if he’d been doing it every night for years. He pulled his own blankets up around his hips, and placed the blanket square on the pillow beside his head. He patted it with the flat of his hand.

Tony didn’t need another invitation. He vaulted up onto the bed, dancing around the raised lumps of Steve’s legs and circled not once but four times before curling up on the pillow. Steve reached out and patted him fondly, eyes closing.

“Good night Tony.” He said sleepily.

“Good night Steve.”

Tony lay still for a very long time listening to the sounds Steve made in his sleep. He stretched out, pressing up against the very border of his blanket and let his nose brush against Steve’s soft golden hair where it just touched the blanket. Steve twitched in his sleep and rolled closer, face pressing against Tony’s snout. Tony nuzzled against him, letting out a soft sigh, and fell asleep knowing that things were alright now.

 

 

Morning found Tony curled up in a panic. Steve lay snoring beside him, his back facing Tony, pointed towards his alarm clock. Tony watched the alarm clock from over Steve’s shoulder with dread, knowing that he was only a few minutes away was their mutual wakeup call; he wondered if there would be a change in Steve when he realized that he’d slept with Tony by his head. He wondered vaguely if he was going to be smacked. The alarm came, screaming good morning, and Steve sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes, his shirt half lifted up from his pajama bottoms. He shut the alarm off with one hand, not even looking at it and adjusted his shirt with a yawn, turning around. When he opened his eyes fully and looked around the room, he spotted Tony and tensed a teensy bit. Tony was pleased by this reaction; it was better than finding himself back at the vet with broken bones, and Steve hadn’t looked as upset as he had suspected he might. Steve hadn’t thrown him off the bed either. It was a start. Tony buried his snout under one of his paws, feigning sleepiness even though he had been awake and staring at the clock for the past half hour.

“So early…. Why are we up so early?” Tony groaned. Steve shifted on the bed beside him and then stretched, reaching out to push Tony’s paw off of his snout with a gentle prod.

“Because it’s time to go for my run. Want to come with me?” Steve asked, getting out of bed. Tony debated on saying no, thinking about drifting off to sleep, but then Steve was stripping again and changing into his day clothes and Tony’s mouth spoke without his brain’s consent.

“Hell yes.”

Steve turned, shirt half over his head with one eyebrow raised and stared at Tony, who tried to nonchalantly turn around on the bed so that Steve couldn’t see his goofy grin.

“Hell yes? Tony Stark saying hell yes to a run at six in the morning? What has the world come to?” Steve laughed dryly. Tony was particularly thankful that Steve hadn’t realized the real reason for the hell yes comment.

“I’m usually up at six…” Tony griped, standing up and stretching his way across the bed. He lounged on the edge while Steve finished dressing, casually staring. He couldn’t help but watch the way Steve’s grey sweatpants clung to his ass and had to struggle with himself to keep from wolf whistling. God, he thought, he’d never had this problem when he’d been interested in a woman. Why was it that Steve seemed to bring out his inner pervert?

“I just usually go to sleep at six instead of waking up.” Tony joked, winking in Steve’s direction.

“Uh huh.” Steve said, smirking again, clearly not believing a word Tony had said. He pulled on a pair of black and yellow socks and Tony followed him out the door, keeping just far enough away to not seem like he was excited about the prospect of a morning run. He had a reputation to maintain after all – he couldn’t spoil it with this sudden need to be a morning person.

 

They jogged to the park and back with Tony running well ahead of Steve, still on his harness and leash, the warm sun rising in the sky above them. Tony sped around everything he came into contact with; playing the same game he had played with Steve the night before – winding in between objects to see how fast Steve could untangle the leash. Steve cursed him with a grumble as they got tangled up together around a telephone pole; Tony teased him that his reflexes were getting rusty from having no villains to smash. Steve stuck his tongue out, surprising Tony into a snorted laugh, and then they continued to run on in silence, the only sound that of their panted breaths.

They returned home and ate breakfast together at the kitchen table, Tony sitting on the chair across from Steve, eating from his dog dish while Steve ate cereal from his own bowl. They shared a handful of apple slices afterwards and then spent the rest of the morning sitting on the couch watching National Geographic while the rest of the household woke up around them.

 

A month went by before Tony even realized that time had passed around him. He hadn’t really been counting days. This wasn’t a surprise for him, what was unusual was the fact that he spent all of those days that month sleeping and eating regularly. He also hadn’t been in the workshop once. It must have been a record of some kind. He’d been spending his days just enjoying his alone time with Steve. They went everywhere together now. Steve took him out every morning for runs. Tony slept every night at Steve’s side, sometimes sleeping on the blanket and other times cuddling sprawled out on Steve’s bare chest, nose pressed against the smooth bare skin of Steve’s clavicle. Tony kept himself well behaved. He played carefully with Clint, even though more often times than not they both wanted to roughhouse, and made sure to keep out from under Natasha’s feet when she was making cookies in the kitchen. He felt more dog than human now, but it wasn’t so bad for once; he’d almost grown to enjoy it.

When Steve went out to get groceries, which Tony felt was just endearing because, let’s face it, he had a service that brought him groceries, but Steve _insisted_ on doing it anyways – well… Tony wasn’t ashamed to admit that he waited at the door for him to come back from his shopping trips. Natasha found this extremely amusing and took pictures whenever she caught him at it which she sent to Pepper, who when she visited, teased him relentlessly.

Even though he couldn’t do much to help the Avengers now, Tony found that he had slowly become alright with just being there on the sidelines. The depression he’d felt after turning into a dog had vanished, and sank further and further away into memory with every day he spent at Steve’s side. In fact, he began to wonder less about what was happening and more about what would happen once he _did_ manage to turn back human. He was plagued with little irrational thoughts that popped up at random moments, like when he was in mid-bite of kibble – thoughts like, would Steve still like him when he turned back human? He often wondered this, but Steve was always around and seemed to to distract him every time he thought about it for too long. Maybe he had seen something on Tony’s face. It had to be some innate talent – maybe something Steve had gotten with the good ol’ super soldier serum, or something, because he was damned good at it. Tony wondered if Steve felt the same apprehensions he did about everything.

Tony had learned a lot about Steve now, like how he wore weirdly patterned socks; he wore them despite being rather obsessed with very plain and standard clothing because Natasha had bought them for him as a present. He rarely ever wore things that were outside of the t-shirts, uniform and pants catagories. Steve liked simple things, and while Tony had been fighting against the idea of conformity for most of his life, he could generally see why Steve acted the way he acted. Being in the army had locked some ideas in his head – like the way he always made his bed with hospital corners after he’d gotten up for the day, and how he always worked out to a specific schedule whether it be for food or just for how the day ended. Everything was timed out and precise. He could be casual when he wanted to be, but it almost seemed as if he were trapped in his ways and he always resisted Tony’s attempts at changing the schedule as if they would give him some kind of sickness. Maybe it was because of how sickly Steve had been as a young man; Tony couldn’t be certain, and Steve didn’t like to talk about it, so he didn’t press.

Even with Steve’s firm attitude towards life, Tony was happier than he’d ever been – even when he was with Pepper and everything had been perfect for a while he’d never felt so content with life. He’d never really had anyone devote as much attention to him as Steve did unless they were being paid to do so in the first place, and even if all of this was because Tony was a dog – even if it was just _responsibility_ that was keeping Steve with him, he was happy. He could live with it. Only… he couldn’t.

Tony had started having nightmares again, and he’d been waking up in cold sweats; he didn’t know why, but he suspected they had something to do with his growing friendship with Steve. Steve hadn’t noticed the nightmares, because Steve had been having his own and hadn’t really been awake when Tony had been having his. They missed each other, sometimes by minutes or hours; Tony was never sure by how much, because he spent too much time after _his_ nightmares just breathing in and out, trying to push the dark images out of his mind. Steve usually just stared up at the ceiling, hands clutching at the blankets, white knuckled, until he fell asleep again. He never made a sound – just gritted his teeth even while sleeping and went back to bed as soon as it was over. He tossed and turned though, almost knocking Tony off the bed some nights. Tony had tried to bring this casually up in conversation once and Steve had flatly told him that he’d been having nightmares for a long time now and that it wasn’t anything Tony should be worrying about. Steve had tried to reassure Tony by telling him that everything was fine, that he was _fine_ and had then turned it around on him and asked how Tony was feeling. Tony had in turn tried to talk to Steve about his own nightmares so that maybe Steve might decide to open up to him, but Steve never seemed to be able to bring himself to open up. Tony wasn’t sure if he should be offended by that or not; he could understand Steve’s reluctance to letting anyone in his head because he’d felt the same way before, before Steve had been his friend. He’d been Steve’s friend for a month now – a month – and Steve was still closed to him sometimes. He asked Natasha what he should do about it and she had just looked at him with a raised eyebrow and walked away without saying a thing. He wasn’t sure why she hadn’t helped, but he assumed that it was just her way of telling him to let things run their course, so he remained silent and savored his time with Steve, knowing that it might all be coming to an end.

 

 

Tony awoke to the sound of Steve whispering in the darkness. It was a soft sound, almost impossibly quiet, but his dog ears picked up on it anyways; he soon had his head raised and cocked to the side, looking at Steve in the dark. Steve was drenched in sweat, his shirt clinging to his damp skin. His hands grasped helplessly at the sheets and blankets, eyes squeezed shut, lips forming words and sentences that Tony wasn’t sure how to interoperate. A lot of the gibberish was about Bucky.

Tony knew only a little about Bucky from Steve; he had been Steve’s best friend and had meant more than the world to him. Steve talked to him about Bucky whenever he gave Tony his bi-weekly bath as a way to distract him from his hatred of the water, telling him about the adventures they had had together. Bucky had been a soldier, like Steve – he’d served with Steve during world war two and they had been together through the kinds of things Tony assumed would have been in his nightmares if he’d had any space left for new ones. Bucky had been captured by the Red Skull and he’d been tortured; in the end, he’d been killed, but Steve had never told Tony how. Steve talked about him as if he had just seen Bucky yesterday, and had promised to visit him. It was unnerving to hear Steve talk about Bucky – not because what he said was disturbing (although some of it often was) – but because Steve was so reverent about Bucky and how he could do no wrong. Tony was surprised that Steve had any kind of hero worship at all; he was Captain America for god’s sake – what kind of person could he idolize?

Tony knew that he was jealous of Bucky Barnes and his amazing friendship with Steve Rogers. He knew he had it bad, when he’d talked Jarvis into looking through Bucky’s file when no one had been around and had spent far too much time researching him then was healthy. It was an obsession he didn’t like having; having Steve on his mind all the time wasn’t much better, but with Steve, the thoughts were always happy. With Bucky, the thoughts were always gloomy and somewhat sinister. Steve never explicitly said that Bucky had been a homophobe. He always made sure to mention all of Bucky’s gold star traits, leaving out the ones where he’d beaten up a man who had been fooling around with one of the other Howling Commandos when Steve hadn’t been around. It had been in Bucky’s disciplinary file – Steve probably didn’t know the whole truth of the matter, or maybe he did and just didn’t want to admit to having known about it in the first place. Tony was pretty sure that it was the second option, because there had been some notation in the corner of the page stating that the ‘commanding officers of the unit’ had been notified, and he was pretty sure that Steve had been one of the highest ranked in the Commandos.

Regardless of his frustrations, Tony turned his attention back to Steve, who was muttering again, this time much louder than before. The words poured out of Steve’s mouth like water, slapping at the silence with their wretchedness.

“Bucky no – stop that – no don’t. Don’t go – don’t fall! No. I won’t give in, I promise. I won’t – I’ll – no! Bucky!”

Tony’s ears flattened against the top of his head. He didn’t want to listen to this – didn’t want to hear Steve in such apparent distress. He didn’t want to see Steve hurting. He stood up and gently pressed his wet nose to the side of Steve’s neck, moving higher to lick gently at the curve of Steve’s ear. Steve’s eyes shot open and he turned, hands curled into fists as if he was going to punch whatever had woken him; his eyes were wild and bloodshot from poor sleep. He saw Tony and calmed almost immediately, shoulders loosening, letting out a shaky breath.

“Jeeze Tony – don’t do that. You scared the daylights out of me!” Steve choked out.

“Sorry Steve, but you were having some kind of monster nightmare and I didn’t have the heart to watch you keep fighting your way through it alone.” Tony said softly. He clambered up onto Steve’s chest and lay down with his nose resting on Steve’s shoulder, eyes half closed so that he could peek at Steve in the darkness. Steve was trying to regain his composure underneath him – Tony could see him fighting with something dark, inward and unruly. Tony waited, knowing that it was something Steve had to do on his own.

After a few minutes in silence, Steve cleared his throat and rearranged the blankets, hands still shaking. He ran his fingers through his sleep mussed hair and then let the hand drop down onto Tony’s back, leaving it there, his fingers curling in Tony’s fur.

“I was dreaming about Bucky dying again.” Steve said finally, eyes staring not at Tony, but up at the ceiling above as he always did when he awoke from the nightmares.

“He died falling from the train when we were tracking down Zola. I couldn’t save him.”

Steve’s fingers tightened in Tony’s fur and then relaxed, his muscles contracting as a sob escaped. His eyes watered, but no tears fell; Tony nudged his nose forwards and bumped gently against Steve’s chin. Steve began to cry in honest then, tears streaming down his face, hiccoughing as he tried to speak and breath.

“He was my best friend, and I didn’t save him. I couldn’t save him.” Steve cried, wiping at his face with his free hand as if afraid that Tony would see his tears and think less of him for them.

“It’s alright Steve. You can cry if you need to. I’m not going to judge you for it.” Tony said, nuzzling Steve’s chin. Steve continued to stroke Tony’s fur; the sobs lessened after a while and then finally fell into ragged sniffles.

“He used to tell me that one day we’d get a place together and pick up dames – like before the war. We’d find two nice dames, and we’d settle down and raise our kids to be best friends too. He used to like talking about the future. Always liked to think ahead – I was never much for thinking that far ahead. Sure, it’s nice to plan and know where you mean to go, but realistically? Realistically, there was no way that we were both going to come out of there alive and I – I used to hate him for his plans sometimes. I used to hate the fact that he’d planned out both of our lives and that I didn’t…”

Steve pressed his face into Tony’s fur, rubbing Tony’s back.

“He used to tell me that my drawings were nice, but that I should watch out in case some fag saw and thought I was one too.” Steve said stiffly. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes, not looking at Tony, arms wrapped around Tony’s body now.

“He used to watch out for me before the serum. Used to keep the fags away – or so _he_ said. I never really understood when I was younger what he meant by fag. I used to think he was trying to keep me from smoking at first…” Steve laughed darkly.

“But he was just afraid that I’d be… abnormal or something and that I would ruin his plans for the future by running off and shacking up with some guy. Not that he ever had to worry – I liked dames just fine, even if they didn’t like me back. No one really took any interest in tiny little Steve Rogers.”

Steve fell silent. Tony waited, sure that he would say something else, but he didn’t. Steve just squished his face into Tony’s and fell asleep, tears drying on his cheeks.

Tony knew then that he hated Bucky. It was crazy that he could hate someone who had been so close to Steve and who was long dead – someone he’d never met and who had never done him any harm – but he hated Bucky anyways. He hated that Steve hated himself because of what Bucky had said to him – of what Bucky had joked and teased him about. What he hated most though was that Steve had carried this guilt along with him through seventy some odd years and was still carrying held in his arms like some kind of child, today.

He wished that he could have gone back in time and punched Bucky in the face – even if it would have just made Steve mad at him. He knew that he wanted to be supportive for Steve’s sake. He’d listen and give Steve someone to talk to about Bucky because he knew that it was what Steve needed right now. Steve didn’t need Tony; he needed someone to sit and listen to his nightmares so that he could try and banish them for good. Despite how much he disliked Bucky’s moral character, Tony decided to keep his opinion of Bucky to himself. It wasn’t his place to bad mouth Bucky, even if he wanted to. He’d do it for Steve. Steve would understand; maybe he’d even grow to appreciate Tony’s presence.

 

 

Nick Fury looked angry. He always looked angry, but at the moment he looked as if he had seen the road sign for angry and gone straight past it into Excessively Angry. The Avengers were gathered in SHIELD HQ nestled away in the inner sanctum of the biggest of SHIELD’s briefing rooms. Each Avenger had their own seat and position around a polished wooden table; not that the positions meant anything to them. The positions meant more to Fury, who always had the head position on the table. He used it to make sure that all of the others knew that he was the head everything in the organization – They knew he was in charge because he made it impossible for them not to. Everything they encountered in SHIELD was arranged so that they could see their inferiority. He was the one with the plush chair that had wheel on the bottom; Steve’s chair was metal and uncomfortable, as were the other Avengers’ chairs. Fury used this difference to show them who had control. They followed Steve’s orders, but it was Fury’s orders that Steve followed and Steve was just like them, in the same boat.

Usually, Tony wasn’t particularly concerned with Fury’s mood swings – sure, he monitored them, but that was only so that he had cursory knowledge of when to retreat and when to continue taunting him from afar. They had been having a lengthy discussion about the latest debriefs and the fact that there had been less than normal villainous activity going on within the city. Fury had been ordering them to start preparing for the worst and then he had noticed ‘the white dog’ sitting in Steve’s lap and had blown a gasket.

This was the first meeting in SHIELD that Tony had attended since his transformation; he’d been avoiding SHIELD ever since the initial ordeal of Steve having to drag him out of the building on a leash. Tony was sitting comfortably on Steve’s lap with his head resting on the tabletop above as he often did at home, eyes half closed as his body hung free form from the table. Steve’s hand was resting on his back as he discussed the mission debriefs. This was something that apparently annoyed Fury to no end.

“Captain Rogers, may I ask why you felt it necessary to bring your pet to this meeting? This is Avengers’ business, not doggy daycare.” Fury growled, sitting up straighter in his plush leather chair. Steve’s face flushed, but his expression didn’t change. He continued to stare with business-like calm at Fury; the other Avengers mirrored his expression perfectly as if they’d been replaced with LMDs.

“Tony has every right to be here sir.” Steve said firmly. Natasha, Bruce and Clint nodded in agreement beside him. Thor looked confused by the comment and turned to Clint for clarification.

“I admit that I am confused – perhaps you could explain why the man of Fury is so angry with Steven and Anthony?” Thor asked. Clint snickered and hid a smile with his hand when he saw Fury’s expression at hearing Thor’s ‘man of Fury’ remark.

“The man of Fury would like to know why Captain Rogers insists on naming his pets after Tony Stark. You’d think he was secretly bearing torch for him or something.” Fury grumbled, shuffling the pile of paper in front of him as if it didn’t bother him as much as it actually did. Steve stared at Fury, expression turning from confusion to deadpan annoyance.

“Sir, this IS Stark.”

Fury looked up sharply, papers forgotten, and squinted across the table at the white dog. His eyebrow rose slowly upwards.

“Did you report this? How long has this been going on? Why wasn’t I informed of this?” Fury asked rapid fire in a low, commanding, voice.

“You _were_ informed sir – I filled out all the required paperwork and left it with Agent Coulson, who informed me that the information would get to you sir.” Steve said stiffly. The muscles in the hand on Tony’s back twitched, making Tony chuckle aloud. The sound caused Fury to stare directly at the Tony, who stared back at him with thinly veiled contempt, something he hadn’t been sure he could express in dog; he had thought it only useable by cats and possibly some of the larger kind of badgers.

“ _Stark_? What the hell happened to him – Coulson. Get me those files on Stark. Now!” Fury snapped. Coulson slipped out of the room from the back like a shadow, soundless, and returned a few minutes later with a few pieces of paper held together with a warped paper clip. He winked at Steve and then glided back to stand at the back of the room with his hands clasped in front of him, watching the rest of the team with bland indifference. Tony found the wink amusing; apparently Steve knew what it meant though, because he nodded once to Coulson and then turned all of his attention back to Fury.

Fury scanned the pages, one finger trailing along the writing as he did so, tracing out the events. His brow furrowed and his lips twitched at the corners, as if he were fighting with the urge to laugh and wasn’t quite sure what that urge meant to him anymore. After a moment of silent reading he put the papers back in order, paper clipped them together, and looked at Steve, who stared unabashedly back at him.

“Stark’s off the team until he changes back. As amusing as it is to have a furry Avenger, and as much as I love seeing Stark on a leash, he’s physically incapable of carrying out his duties. The fact that you’ve all kept this from me for so long is baffling – really, Coulson? I’d have thought you would have leapt on the chance to tell me about this.” Fury said flatly.

“The papers must have been misplaced sir. I’m not sure how that happened – I was certain that I’d filed them right after Captain Rogers gave them to me.” Coulson said with a cough, shrugging. Fury did not look amused, but didn’t press Coulson for more details. Tony felt sure that it would be mentioned in a conversation Coulson and Fury would be having in private; possibly also involving death threats, thumb screws or thumb tacks at the very least.

“I can still do things – “ Tony protested, jumping up onto the table with a click of his nails. Steve stopped him with a soft touch to his back; resting his hand on Tony’s shoulders just behind his collar.

“Sir, with all due respect, this entire thing should blow over at some point and we’ve all been dealing with it successfully. Tony’s able to help us from the mansion, and even if he can’t come out onto the field with us, he’s still an asset to the team.” Steve said. He spoke in full Captain America voice, unwavering and uncompromising. Tony felt a shiver go down his spine as Steve looked down at him approvingly. “It’s my call sir, and I think that you’ll see – “

Fury waved him into silence.

“Rogers, it is _not_ your call. It is _my_ call.” Fury barked. He looked at Steve; his good eye narrowed and hardened. “If you feel that having a genius level _dog_ on your team in place of Iron Man is something you can work with, far be it from me to tell you that you can’t keep him around. It’s on your head if something happens and Stark screws up. Are you willing to take on that responsibility Captain? Because as far as I’m concerned, Stark hasn’t earned one iota of respect in my books, and I highly doubt that he’s going to be doing anything other than humping legs in his spare time.”

“With all due respect sir, Tony is a useful member of the Avengers and has been since the beginning. I am glad to serve with him. I’m absolutely fine with taking responsibility for his actions – I have complete faith in him.” Steve said icily, pulling Tony back into his lap before he could charge across the table at Fury. Tony glowered at Fury from his new position tucked under Steve’s arm, hackles raised, ears flattened against his head and fur puffed up. Fury looked amusedly at him, chuckling; he shook his head and gave Steve a very condescending look, revealing just exactly how bad he thought Steve’s decision actually was.

“Well, at least you’re finally all working on the same page. Alright Captain. Keep your pet. I’m sure things will work out eventually. For now, you keep Stark on a tight leash.”

Steve nodded his head stiffly and then grabbed Tony by the collar as he tried lunged out from under his arm at Fury _again_. He didn’t look down at Tony, locking his eyes with Fury instead in an act of defiance unnatural to Steve. Tony fumed, eyes narrowed with lips curling back to reveal sharp pearly white teeth; Steve brushed Tony’s teeth every night, and was disturbed by the idea of plaque being allowed to build up on Tony’s teeth. Tony was glad for the tooth brushings now – at least Fury wouldn’t have something else to throw in his face.

“Sir.” Steve said.

“I suppose we’ve covered a significant amount of information here today. Loki isn’t hanging around in central park eating hotdogs and we’ve had it pretty quiet from the rest of the lunatics. Keep on your toes people – I don’t want to see you slacking off because you’ve got to take Stark out for potty breaks. Dismissed.” Fury snapped. He stood up, glared at Coulson and walked briskly out of the room without another word.

“Why I oughtta – “ Tony snarled, choking himself on his collar as Steve refused to let go. He wanted to sink his teeth into Fury’s leg – to taste blood and vengeance and the polyester blend of his pant legs -

“Tony. No.”

Tony sagged onto Steve’s leg, grumbling to himself; he felt as if all the fight had been squeezed out of him by invisible hands. Steve always had been good at getting people to do what he wanted them to do; funny how it had taken him so long to realize that he’d do just about anything Steve told him to.

“He just wants to see you act out so that he can have a reason to take you off the team. Leave it. We can handle this together.” Steve said, looking at the others. They nodded in agreement and rose, heading to the door. Clint snatched a doughnut off ‘refreshment table’, the only other table in the room, as he moved past it; he stuffed it in his mouth like a squirrel, powdered sugar peppering his cheeks with a dusting of white. Steve set Tony on the floor and pulled the leash out of his pocket, unwinding it from the ball he had tied it into. Tony scowled at him but allowed him to attach the leash to his collar; he didn’t want Fury to see him wearing the leash at all, but Steve didn’t want to go against city bylaws even if they were only inside SHIELD’s HQ to begin with.

“Pretty funny that Coulson didn’t tell him though,” Clint commented offhandedly, “I’ve got a little bit more respect for him now.”

“You do realize that I’m still here Barton.” Coulson said from directly behind Clint. Clint froze, eyes twitching and paled, laughing nervously. Thor slapped him on the shoulder, finding Coulson’s comment more amusing than it actually was, and picked up Mjolnir from the floor beside his chair smiling as he always did.

“The son of Coul was correct to not reveal this information to the man of Fury before now. I believe that it would have been much harder on all of us if the man of Fury had complete control of our situation. It is also possible that the information of Anthony’s condition could have been used against us, and I am most certain that my brother would have taken advantage of the man of Fury’s rage had he known how to provoke it – often, I wonder if he has access to SHIELD’s files. He is crafty in his spying, and many times he is drawn to collect from simpler sources when it is easier for him.” Thor boomed, starting for the door. The others trailed out behind him, including Coulson, and made their way out of the building.

“Speaking of Loki, has anyone heard of anything else relating to the Crystal of Change? He’d be the one to know the most of it I’d think.” Steve asked, leading Tony out past the receptionist. The woman at the front desk watched them leave, one hand on the phone beside her computer. She paid particular attention to Coulson, who nodded once to her and walked past unconcerned in spite of the way she seemed to be glaring at him. They slipped quietly out from SHIELD and walked down the block to where Happy had parked and was waiting.

“I have spoken to my mother, who is the expert in such magical problems, and she has informed me that there is nothing that can be done until the crystal returns to its former glory. I believe she means that it must indeed be powered by some kind of change – she was able to be more specific with her answer, as she made it clear that there are many forms of change for the crystal to cause, and one cannot be sure which form it has taken until one examines the life of the person touched by the crystal. She seemed perplexed as to why Loki would want such a crystal, as it is used oftentimes in legend to change unwanted ideas into wanted ones.” Thor said, shrugging his shoulders noncommittally; Tony was surprised to see that he was sticking with the story they had told him. He was surprised that Thor had continued with the farce, seeing as how Thor had an overdeveloped sense of honor and had almost spat at the idea of lying when they had first mentioned it to him. Thor gave Tony an understanding look and smiled darkly for a moment before putting on a brighter smile for Steve’s sake.

“Changing unwanted into wanted? What does that even mean in Tony’s case? I haven’t really noticed a change except for him being much more agreeable than normal.” Clint grumbled, clambering into the back seat. He took Tony from Steve and did up his seat belt, playing with Tony’s ears. Steve sat beside him, frowning, deep in thought; he almost forgot to do up his own seat belt, and Clint had to poke him to get him to do it. Tony slid out of Clint’s grasp once Steve was belted in and clambered across the seat to settle on Steve’s lap, resting his hips on Steve’s knee. He shot Clint a dirty look for the comment and then turned away, intent on rubbing his face into Steve’s stomach. Clint looked disappointedly at him, and sat looking like he was a child who had just had his favourite toy taken away from him. Coulson patted him on the shoulder consolingly from the seat behind making him jump. He gave Coulson a sly grin and then went back to staring at Tony; Coulson leaned back into the seat, eyes closed, determined to sleep all the way back home, ignoring everyone else in the car.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll figure it out eventually.” Tony said unconvincingly. He could feel Clint looking at him with sad eyes again and tried to block him out. Steve’s hand dropped down to rest on Tony’s back again; it felt surprisingly stiff and uncomfortable, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was touching. Tony looked up at Steve, eyeing his face. Steve looked frustrated and was biting his lip as if to hold something back; he was turned away from Tony, staring out the window. Tony wondered why he looked so serious all of a sudden. He would ask Steve about it later when they were away from the group – maybe privacy would be all that was needed to get him to speak up about whatever it was that was on his mind. It was that, or he would try and convince Natasha to have a talk with him. A small part of him hoped that he’d be the one to get Steve to break his silence; the other parts of him laughed in his face at the thought of it.

 

 

Tony sat in the bath water, nudging the yellow plastic rubber ducky with his nose towards Steve’s feet. His fur was pressed slick against his body, shrinking him down even more than normal; he looked a bit like a wet rat. He had rolled in the water twice already to give Steve a break from dumping water on his back from the bucket they normally used. Steve had been especially quiet since their debriefing in SHIELD; he’d been distracted, and often didn’t listen when Tony was talking to him, eyes slightly glazed over, lost in thought. He’d been doing Clint’s patented accidental missing whenever he tried to dump water on Tony’s back too, thus why he had been rolling in the water. The rubber ducky bounced off Steve’s bare calf and Steve blinked, abruptly coming back to reality. He looked a little sheepish at having been caught off guard, and scratched his palm idly while he tried to orient himself again. Steve looked down at himself, frowning at what he saw. Steve was dressed in tight blue shorts and nothing else, having decided to get as little clothing wet as possible ever since the initial bathtub experience. This was his normal bathroom attire now. Tony had spent a lot of time admiring the view, but at the moment it seemed rude to admire him, as it seemed that Steve wanted to cover himself up somehow. He looked concerned about everything and nothing all at the same time, lost and muddled.

Steve sat on the edge of the tub, half in the tub and half out, ankles soaking in the water. The bottle of pet shampoo was still clutched in one hand, forgotten when he had drifted off in the mess of thoughts that were currently plaguing his mind. He flashed a bright, apologetic smile at Tony and began to lather up Tony’s fur, shaking his head to knock thoughts away; the uncomfortable look on his face faded away as he allowed himself to be distracted with work.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Tony asked, letting Steve’s hands rub their way through his fur. He tried to keep himself still so that he didn’t accidentally spray Steve with the foam building up in his fur. Steve just sighed, brows furrowed in concentration as he worked up a lather in Tony’s white fur. The shampoo soon became pink and foamy; it was the perfect consistency for shaking and Tony shook with all of his might, covering Steve from head to toe in the soapy fluff. Steve groaned, wiping at a blob of shampoo under his chin.

“You’re such a brat.” He commented, bending over Tony to start building the lather again.

“I know, but you love that about me.” Tony cooed, throwing himself up onto Steve’s lap. Steve grunted, leaning back to make room for Tony, who smeared himself against Steve’s bare chest, leaving a lovely pink bubble streak in his wake.

“Brat!”

“Yep.”

Steve began to laugh in earnest, wiping at his face with lather covered hands. He looked down at his hands, noticed that he was covered with foam and began to laugh harder, entire body shaking with mirth. His eyes closed, tearing up; he looked carefree and somewhat happier than he’d been in days. Tony began to cackle along with him, standing up on Steve’s legs to rub his foam covered snout into Steve’s face, wanting to cover him in more glorious foam so that he’d crack another brilliant smile.

There was a flash of red light from the crystal embedded in Tony’s collar.

Steve opened his eyes, wiping tears of laugher away and beheld the sight of a very naked, bubble covered Tony Stark straddling his thighs. Shampoo foam clung to Tony’s chest and hips, dripping down his body to rest on the flesh of Steve’s bare legs. Tony grinned cheekily at him, not yet realizing that he’d changed back into his real form.

Steve screamed.

Tony went backwards, banging his head against the bathtub edge by the wall, landing upside down in the most undignified of positions. His ears rang from the sound of his skull connecting with the side of the tub. He was so startled that he didn’t even have time to call out to Steve, before he flew from the room as fast as was humanly possible. The door banged against the wall outside so hard that it dented it, leaving deep gouge in the drywall. Tony remained upside down for a few seconds, sprawled in the tub, wincing in pain as black spots flashed in front of his watering eyes. When his vision cleared, he struggled upright and wiped at the shampoo lather that covered his face and body. He carefully uncovered his arc reactor and sighed loudly in relief when he saw that it was still there; it was still there, functioning perfectly. He shakily stood up and pulled out the drain plug, slipping through soap and water, and tugged the shower curtain around the inside of the draining tub, turning the shower on so that he could wash himself off. The water was cold at first, and he cringed, pressing his body up against the wall until it warmed up. He washed the pet shampoo from his hair with one hand, scrubbing at it until the water ran clear, holding himself up with the other. His legs were a little shaky; he couldn’t tell if it was because he hadn’t been using them or if it was because of the way his head had struck the tub. He really hoped that the shakes weren’t permanent.

He leaned heavily against the shower wall, feeling at the collar still around his neck with numb fingers; thankfully it hadn’t choked him despite its tightness. He took the collar off, peering suspiciously at the crystal. It stood out as a bright blue blob against the silver and glass embed holding it to the collar; the collar was red, as he had suspected. He laughed to himself, glad that he could see his favourite colour once more. He was grateful that nothing from his dog form had bled into his human one. It would have been a complete disaster if he’d suddenly gone colour blind. He placed the collar on the side of the tub and finished washing himself off, dazed but pleased with himself.

Something felt wrong though.

It felt bizarre to be alone in the bathroom. Steve was usually with him. Where had Steve gone –

Steve!

Tony quickly washed as much of the foam off as he could and turned the shower off, yanking a clean towel from the bar so hard that he almost ripped it clean off the wall. He toweled himself off and wrapped the damp towel around his waist, grabbing the collar as he quickly dashed out into the hall.

“Steve!” Tony yelled.

Tony made his way through the living room, a human blur. Clint and Natasha gaped at him as he streaked past and bolted up to the second floor; he took the stairs two at a time, almost slipping and falling on the carpet at the landing. He made it to Steve’s room, and found that the door was shut tight. He tried the doorknob, fumbling with wet hands that he wiped on his towel and then realized, blinking stupidly, that the door was locked; it had never been locked before, at least not to _him_. He stared at the door, blinking in confusion, before deciding that he should knock. He knocked twice and heard a startled gasp from inside the room, confirming that, _yes_ ; Steve was hiding in his room.

“Steve – are you alright?” Tony asked, concerned. He clutched the collar so tightly in his hand that it began to leave pressure marks; something had gone wrong, or else Steve wouldn’t have fled. Had Steve been hurt when Tony had changed back?

“Go away Tony! I don’t want to talk to you right now!” Steve shouted, hysterical, from deep inside his room. It sounded as if he were shouting from the other side of the room. Maybe he was. Tony pressed his forehead against the door. He felt his face drain of blood when he finally realized what had gone wrong; Steve had lost it when he had seen he’d had a lap full of naked Tony.

“Steve, I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t know that was going happen. I didn’t mean to freak you out!”

“Go away!”

“Steve – “

Something heavy slammed against the door and Tony jumped back, horrified, almost dropping his towel. He wound it tighter around his middle, hands tingling with pins and needles.

“Steve – “

“I said go away!” Steve shouted shrilly.

Tony stood frozen in front of the door, unsure of what to do next. He looked down at the crystal in his hand, looked up at the door in front of him and then looked down at his feet; he felt absolutely miserable. So it was true then. Steve really didn’t like him in his human form; they had gone all the way back to the beginning. He swallowed painfully, gut wrenching, and walked down the hall to his bedroom, opening and closing the door in one fluid motion as he slipped silently inside. He didn’t slam the door; he didn’t want to be that childish, even though it felt like he’d just been screamed at by his father. He hadn’t thought that Steve would be like this – Steve hadn’t seemed to be all that concerned about it before! Tony suddenly didn’t want to be upstairs anymore – he wanted to be in his workshop, where everything would make sense again. He jerked open his dresser, pulling so hard on the handle that the drawer fell out and smashed him in the foot. He cursed, jumping back and then kicked the drawer, irrationally angry. His foot throbbed bitterly and he cursed aloud, feeling his eyes welling up with tears he’d meant to hold in; he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t let it get to him – he’s repeated it over and over again in his mind. He wouldn’t let the disappointment take away what he’d had with Steve.

He retrieved some clothing from the _bastard_ drawer and pulled on a pair of boxers, a pair of sweat pants and a baggy sweater; he was shivering, freezing cold all of a sudden. He dressed quickly, stuffing the collar into his pocket and then fled the room, sneaking past Steve’s door as he made his way to his workshop.

 

The workshop felt even colder than usual when he went inside; having fur had made everything so much warmer. He almost missed it. He was greeted at the door by Jarvis and Dummy; both of them were a sight for sore eyes, not that he hadn’t seen them before while working in the workshop on the Iron Dog. It felt as if he had come home at last, and yet it also felt unbearably empty. The moment he stepped through the doorway, the door swishing shut behind him, he found that he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball on the couch with them watching out for him. The door locked behind him without his request. He slunk over to the couch, ordering Jarvis to not let anyone into the workshop without his permission and dropped like a stone onto the couch, not – NOT – crying. Ok. He could admit that he was crying. He was an adult. He felt like he’d just lost his best friend. Maybe he had. That thought alone made it so much worse.

He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of the sweater, thinking back on all the days spent with Steve. All those wasted days where he’d lived in a cloud of bliss, not thinking about the future. He heard Dummy rolling towards him and scowled softly when a robotic arm held out a box of Kleenex in front of his face. Tony took one, blowing his nose, and then tossed the used Kleenex onto the floor, not caring about making a mess. It was his workshop after all; he could do what he wanted in it. “Jarvis?” He asked after a few more Kleenex had joined the pile on the floor and his eyes had dried a little.

“Yes Tony?” Jarvis replied, sounding concerned. He didn’t normally call Tony by his first name. This was new.

“Do you think that there’s a possibility that Steve still likes me? Or did I just fuck that up too?” He asked, staring at Dummy’s shiny torso as the robot reached out and began to stroke his hair. He sniffled out a laugh despite his dark mood when Dummy’s fingers got stuck and gingerly extracted the fingers with his pruned hands. He held onto Dummy’s hand a little longer than necessary, feeling the cool smooth metal beneath his fingers.

“Sir? What do you mean?” Jarvis asked, seeming confused by the question.

“Steve won’t talk to me now that I’m human. You got any advice for how I can fix it?” Tony asked, voice rough and broken. He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the workshop; Jarvis couldn’t answer, although he seemed to be thinking about the question. It wasn’t as if Jarvis had any experience with this kind of thing, and really, Tony had been let down by so many people that it should have been second nature to him now to know that there was nothing he could do. What did he even need advice for anyways?

“I guess not. Figures.”

Tony fell asleep, curling up in a tight ball, with his knees pressed against his chest. Dummy pulled a grease stained blanket over his shoulders and stood beside him, guarding him.

 

 

Tony awoke in pitch black. He struggled, terror filling his every sense. He hyperventilated, voice stuck in his chest; he heard a high pitched whine and realized that the sound had come from his own mouth. He choked on his own air, swallowing a mouthful of spit and began to cough so hard he thought that he would pass out.

 _He was a dog again_!

He could feel the fabric of his sweater rubbing against his body and tried not to fight against it, knowing that it would only make things worse. He took in a slow steadying breath and moved his head, trying to find the neck of the sweater in the darkness. He could smell his way along by following the fresher air and if he moved slowly enough he could find his way to freedom. He felt something rough grabbing at the fabric trapping him and then all of a sudden the darkness was gone and he could see Dummy clutching the sweater in his hand illuminated in glorious light, chirping in distress.

Tony tried to convey to the robot that he was alright. His reassurances came out in barks and yips, making no sense at all; not that he’d expected the robot to understand in the first place. The robot chirped loudly, waving its arm at him, unsure of what he wanted it to do. Tony shuddered, curling in on himself; hopelessness seeped its way through his entire body, pooling in his chest. Then his brain caught up with him and he remembered that he’d left the collar in his sweat pant pocket.

He could fix this! He turned around in the circle of pants, half his body still trapped in the legs and located the pocket, stuffing his snout inside. He felt around with his tongue and teeth and found the collar, thankful that he’d had the sense to keep it with him.

“Jarvis?” He called out as he pulled the collar free, holding on to it with tightly clenched teeth so that he couldn’t drop it.

“Sir! Are you alright?” Jarvis asked, voice pitched much higher than normal.

“Yeah… I turned back into a fucking dog so no – I’m not all fucking right.” Tony screamed, momentarily hysterical. He felt Dummy’s hand pat his head and flinched, pulling away.

“Don’t!” He snapped and then he felt so much worse when Dummy chirped sadly and lowering his head; the robot wheeled backwards in dismay, the sweater still held clenched in his hand. “Sorry boy. Come back. Please.” He said softly. Dummy wheeled forwards and let the sweater drop from his hand, rolling over it. He reached out and Tony rubbed the side of his snout against the cool metal hand, letting Dummy’s fingers scratch awkwardly at his chin. He took comfort from the touch, knowing that Dummy was just as afraid as he was – if an AI could feel frightened, that was.

“It’s not your fault my life is fucked.” Tony grumbled as Dummy continued to scratch, seemingly happy now that Tony wasn’t mad at him anymore.

“If I may point out sir, you are currently trapped in the workshop. Would you like me to inform Master Rogers or one of the other Avengers of your current predicament?” Jarvis asked carefully.

Tony jerked away from Dummy’s hand, earning a hoot of annoyance from the robot, and looked around the room frantically. The workshop was clear of debris from his last attempt at working on the prototype armor, and although he was trapped there was no need for all out panic. For a brief instant his mind fought with the idea of simply unlocking the Iron Dog and fleeing, flying as far away from Steve and responsibility as possible; he stayed sane enough to remember that he had turned back in to his real form once already. It would probably be a death sentence to use the armor now that he knew he would change back, especially since he knew that he hadn’t made any modifications to the armor to compensate for the mass changes. Still, it was tempting if it meant not having to face Steve again.

“Sir, I have taken the liberty of informing Master Rogers that you are currently a dog and that you have been locked in your workshop.” Jarvis said quietly; his camera didn’t look in Tony’s direction as if he knew that he’d done something he shouldn’t have.

Tony looked up at Jarvis, glaring as hard as he could.

“My apologies Tony, but I felt it was necessary.”

Tony sighed and lay down in the pile of his shed clothing, the collar still gripped by his teeth; it was now covered in drool and teeth marks pocked the soft leather. He eyed the door, seriously thinking about darting between Steve’s legs when it opened.

Steve arrived exactly three minutes after Jarvis had told Tony that he called for him. Steve’s eyes were wide, red rimmed and bloodshot. He poked at the security lock with stiff fingers; Tony jumped off the couch and ducked, hiding behind the couch. Steve took a tentative step into the workshop, looking around. He made his way towards the couch with soundless steps, having seen Tony reflected in the door. He found Tony cowering behind the couch and reached out, scooping him up gingerly, tucking him against his broad chest. He was dressed in long pants and a long sleeved shirt, his skin covered almost completely by coarse fabric.

“Oh god Tony… I’m so sorry.”

Tony kept his eyes downcast, head turned away. Steve sat down on the couch, pushing Tony’s clothing into a pile on the other cushion. He held Tony with care as if afraid he would break him; Tony felt like a child’s porcelain doll and he hated it, hated it even worse than he had hated Steve running away from him. Steve took the collar out of Tony’s mouth, having to fight with Tony to get him to let it go and then set it around Tony’s neck. He didn’t comment on the dampness or teeth marks. His fingers fumbled with the clasp. Steve very rarely fumbled with anything. Tony felt as if he’d done something wrong to cause it to happen.

“Tony?”

Tony remained quiet, eyes squeezed shut. Steve leaned over, hugging Tony lightly, resting Tony’s head underneath his chin. His shoulders shook. They sat together in silence, neither admitting to crying.

 

 

Steve carried Tony up the stairs into the kitchen, not daring to put him down. Tony hadn’t spoken a word since Steve had found him in the workshop. Neither of them had known what to say, and Tony hadn’t had the heart to bring up the bathroom incident – he was still too shell shocked from waking up as a dog once more to think about phrasing any questions for that particular discussion. Steve had suggested that they go upstairs and get something to eat – some kind of comfort food offering on his part. Tony had neither agreed nor disagreed with him; he had hung from Steve’s arms, dangling limply when Steve had marched them both upstairs.

Steve made a peanut butter sandwich one handed and then shuffled slowly to the table with Tony clasped against his chest and the sandwich on a plate in the other hand. Clint snuck into the room as Steve settled in and peered down at Tony. He let out an audible cry of dismay at the sight of Tony and then knelt beside the table, reaching out to smooth the disheveled fur on Tony’s head; Tony blinked his watery brown eyes feeling wretched.

“Shit! This sucks. Jarvis told us what happened, but I was hoping he was wrong for once.” Clint groaned. Tony nosed against Clint’s hand, and Clint reached out and took him from a distressed Steve. Clint cuddled Tony against his chest. He sat down in the chair opposite Steve, sitting cross legged, and began to rub soothing circles on Tony’s back. Tony gave a hiccup involuntarily and buried his face into Clint’s stomach, sobbing, not caring that he was now crying in front of two of his teammates. Steve stared blankly down at the sandwich on his plate; he seemed lost. When he looked up again, he locked eyes with Clint. Steve opened his mouth to speak but fell silent when the full power of Clint’s glare hit him.

“What the _hell_ were you _thinking_ , leaving him alone like that?” Clint growled, hands twitching as if he wanted to gesture at Steve or to perhaps strangle him; his fingers didn’t leaving Tony’s fur even with his apparent anger. Steve shrank back into the chair, trying to make himself small, looking down at his hands clasped in his lap.

“I didn’t think he’d turn back.” Steve said softly.

“Yeah, well neither did we, but he did.” Clint snapped, barely containing his rage.

“Clint… Stop. It’s fine.” Tony said. His voice was muffled from being half in Clint’s shirt.

“It’s not fine!” Clint snapped again. He fixed Steve with a severe look, one he didn’t use often and shook his head in disgust. “You freaked _out_ man. What the hell were you so scared of? It’s not like we all haven’t seen naked Stark-ass before. Fuck, Steve – _grow up_! You’re supposed to be the leader of this band of rag tag rejects and you can’t even look at Stark without having a homophobic freak out!”

“Clint. Drop it. Please. Leave Steve alone. It’s not his fault.” Tony said, pushing against Clint’s arm with his paws. He looked up into the archer’s eyes and saw tears forming there and was startled to see that Clint honestly cared. “Hey, it’s fine. At least we know I can change back, right? That’s got to count for something.”

“Yeah, I guess – but Jesus, Stark, I don’t know how you put up with it, I really don’t. I’d be throwing shit at him if it was me.” Clint grumbled. Tony untangled himself from Clint’s arms and crawled away from him; he climbed up onto the table, walking across to sit beside Steve’s peanut butter sandwich. Steve didn’t look up; he just kept looking down at his hands, eyes wide and expression chagrined. Clint pushed back his chair with an angry grunt and stormed out of the room, running a hand over Tony’s head as he left, not even looking in Steve’s direction.

Alone with his thoughts again, Tony turned to Steve, unsure of what to say. He was frustrated that things had turned out like this – angry that he’d had a taste of freedom and that it had been so temporary and fleeting. Part of him was also furious that he was almost _happy_ to be back in this body if it meant that Steve would hold him and talk to him again. He knew in the back of his head that the change had meant that Steve had briefly forgotten about his homophobia. Maybe the change back meant it had returned…

He scowled down at Steve’s still hands, wanting to be touched by them; he wanted to be _comforted_. He wanted _Steve_.

It hadn’t been fair that Clint had said those things to Steve – Clint didn’t understand, and yet… Clint had been blunt and had said the things Tony had been feeling after his initial transformation back. Clint never really had any problems telling it as it was – it was something that Tony had often admired him for. There wasn’t much point in telling Steve the same things over again. Steve already looked as if he’d been smacked.

“I’m sorry Tony.” Steve said softly, still not looking up.

“You don’t have to be sorry. It isn’t your fault that I’m stuck like this again, it’s probably mine.” Tony sighed. Steve looked up sharply, blue eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears. He looked shocked by Tony’s words.

“Tony…”

“Well we’re back to square one again. We may as well learn to deal with it. With any luck this is just some kind of random hiccup. Maybe it’ll happen again and stick next time?” Tony said, trying to dismiss Steve’s shock; he wanted to be brave for Steve’s sake. He could feel hopeless all on his own, but it wasn’t right that Steve was so upset about the whole thing. Tony had dealt with Howard’s cruelty. He could deal with a little magical hiccup. There might still be hope to be had; if the first change back had meant Steve had come close to changing his mind...

“Hey, come on, give me a smile. It’s not the end of the world.” Tony said, jauntily. It came out a bit more melancholy then he would have preferred. Steve smiled weakly, his eyes still filled with despair. Tony nudged the sandwich with his paw, pushing the plate towards Steve.

“Eat. You’ll feel better.”

“I should be saying that to you.” Steve said, sighing.

“Yeah well…”

“Want to split it?” Steve asked timidly.

“Sure Steve. Sounds good.”

The peanut butter melted in Tony’s mouth. It felt nostalgic and homey all at once, like a hug from Jarvis when he had still been alive and Tony had come to him with scraped knees. He licked at the peanut butter, finding it stuck to the roof of his mouth. He grumbled about it until Steve was giggling softly at his antics. He felt better after that. It felt a little more like the old Steve was back.

 

Steve let Tony sleep on his bed that night even though he was obviously uncomfortable. Tony took his place on the square of blanket marked as his, turning around a few times until he was comfortable and then lay down, one eye in Steve’s direction. Steve had crept into the bathroom to change into his pajamas. Tony tried not to feel insulted by that. It was bizarre that only a few hours could change Steve so completely. Last night Steve had stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed without a care in the world; he hadn’t been concerned about Tony’s eyes on his body. Tonight Steve had grabbed a full set of pajamas and was now carefully and quietly dressing in the bathroom with the door closed so that Tony couldn’t see him. The door was probably locked too if Tony had to guess.

Tony closed his eyes when Steve walked back into the room so that Steve couldn’t see how disheartened he felt. The lights were off when Steve finally pulled the blankets around himself, tucking them in so tightly around his body he was almost unable to move. He folded his arms over his chest, drumming his fingers on his arm.

“So…” Steve started, clearing his throat. “Good night I guess.”

“Yeah. Good night Steve. Sleep tight.”

Steve rolled over, facing Tony’s small, curled form.

“Still up for that run tomorrow morning?” Steve asked, trying for cheerful. He sounded strained, as if it had hurt to ask.

“I guess.”

 

It was an awkward couple of days after Tony’s first transformation back into his human form. Steve kept a barrier between them, often pushing Tony off of his lap when they would sit on the couch; it felt like the first week had started all over again. Tony was frustrated by this to say the least. He had almost yelled at Steve a few times before catching himself, knowing that it would only make things worse than they already were. He could see that Clint was fighting with the same feelings that he was. He’d caught the archer sending Steve dirty looks a few times already and had had to talk to him about it, not wanting to hurt Steve’s feelings further. He could feel himself parroting Natasha almost word for word.

 

 

Despite Tony having a relatively selfish personality out in the public eye, he was caring about his friends and worried about them constantly. Both Pepper and Rhodey could attest to this almost manic protectiveness – they often complained about his constant unwavering attention. He would sacrifice anything to make sure that others wouldn’t have to go through anything excruciatingly uncomfortable, which often made him look as if he were being a complete asshole by stating his dislike for things that others were uncomfortable admitting to; his general refusal to do certain things also made him seem childish. He understood very well what it was to be unhappy and depressed, and despite Steve’s reassurances that everything was fine, he could tell that it wasn’t and hadn’t been getting any better for him. Steve was withdrawing, pushing away from him, and Tony was the reason. That hurt – more than the distance that Steve put between them when they hung out. More than the way Steve didn’t quite meet his eye anymore. Steve wasn’t speaking his mind and seemed to be working with a strange kind of brain to mouth filter, not looking at Tony sometimes after Tony would make some joking comment about what they’d seen on television. Sometimes Steve would fall silent after they would come back from their morning run; he wouldn’t let himself be coaxed into speaking sometimes for hours.

Tony was left with the distinct impression that he was causing Steve some kind of distress but that Steve didn’t want to offend him by talking about it; Steve felt guilty. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but it seemed painfully obvious when he thought about it; he thought about it so often now that it was there along with the internal commands for breathing in and out. Breathe in. Steve hates you. Breathe out. Steve hates you.

Although it would hurt him to do it, Tony decided that it might be best for Steve if they spent less time together. He arranged his days so that he spent time goofing off with Clint instead of spending the entire day curled up beside Steve on the couch where Steve would sit in silence and simply nod along without speaking. Steve didn’t seem to notice the change, and Tony was soon afraid that he’d have to stop sleeping in Steve’s bedroom as well because maybe that was what was causing the problem in the first place. Tony decided reluctantly that he would sneak out of the bedroom during the night and try to find somewhere else to sleep. Maybe he’d be able to sleep underneath his bed without being found and captured. It might help Steve even, which was the point entirely. It would be uncomfortable and cold, but it would be worth it if it would get Steve to smile again.

Of course the night he planned to do this was the night that he woke up sleeping on Steve bare-ass naked with his nose pressed into the smooth flesh of Steve’s neck. Steve had freaked out again and shoved Tony off him; Tony had fallen off the side of the bed. Tony had still been out of it and he’d simply lay there naked on the itchy carpet, dazed, as Steve shouted at him to get out – to go away. He’d been polite about it. He’d used please so many times that Tony was now sure that he would flinch whenever he heard please used in a sentence.

Tony had crawled to the door in the dark, naked and ashamed of himself; he’d fled down the hall before Steve could yell any louder, knowing that the others would wake up if they heard too much noise. He ended up in his bedroom wearing a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, curled up in the middle of his bed, afraid to sleep under the covers in case he turned back while he slept. When he dozed off, he changed back. He awoke half strangled by his t-shirt, which had twisted around him in his sleep.

Tony had slipped out of the shirt unhappily and made his way back to Steve’s room, wanting to be consoled just for a few moments and then realized that the door was closed. He looked up at the shining doorknob and knew that the door would be locked as well, even if he’d had the fingers and thumbs to open it in the first place. Steve was probably sleeping with the dresser pulled in front of the door so that Tony couldn’t get back in. He decided to curl up on the carpet in front of the door, not wanting to call out to Steve; he didn’t want to see Steve’s guilty face.

Tony woke up the next morning wrapped in a blanket he didn’t recognize. He could smell Clint on it when he burrowed deeper into the fabric, surrounded by warmth and softness; he was thankful that Clint was watching out for him. When Steve’s door finally opened an hour later and he crept out, Tony found he was too afraid to poke his head out of his blanket-nest to speak to him.

Steve looked down at him and let out a sad “oh” before dropping down to sit on the carpet beside the blanket. He arranged himself with his back against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest. There were dark rings around his eyes.

“Why didn’t you say that you turned back?” Steve asked quietly.

Tony shrugged. The blanket rumpled around him, dropping over his nose. He closed his eyes again and tried to pretend that Steve hadn’t spoken. Steve’s hand reached out and adjusted the blanket, arranging it so that he could see Tony’s head.

“Tony?”

“What?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh. I uh… didn’t want to wake you up.”

“I was awake. I didn’t sleep last night.” Steve sighed.

“I think I did, but I don’t really remember.”

“Liar.”

Tony sat up, rubbing at his eyes with his paw. Steve pulled his foot away from his eye and ruffled the fur under his chin, lips curling into a soft smile.

“Yeah, well…” Tony said. He stepped out of the blanket and crept closer to Steve, who gathered him up in his lap and began to pet his head, hands shaking.

“Look… If this is making you uncomfortable…” Tony said, hanging his head.

“It’s not – “ Steve stuttered. His hand paused its stroking, hovering just above Tony’s fur.

“Steve, you threw me out of your bedroom because I turned back in my sleep. It makes you uncomfortable – I get that.”

Steve flushed, his entire face turning beet red. He clasped his hands in front of his face, resting his head against them, eyes half closed.

“It just scared me, that’s all. I didn’t mean to throw you out. It was just a gut reaction. It’s not like I wake up every day with a naked man lying on top of me you know.” Steve grumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb.

“I’m sorry about that by the way.” Tony apologized.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It happened – it wasn’t like you planned it or anything.” Steve waved the apology off, tipping his head back to rest against the wall. His hands dropped to his sides, resting with palms flat in the carpet on either side of his hips.

“I don’t really feel like going for a run today, do you?” Steve asked.

“Not really. You?”

“No. I’d rather go back to sleep.”

Tony stretched and slid off of Steve’s lap, stumbling into a stand. He looked up at Steve, who struggled upright beside him and then paused at the door, unsure of whether he should go in or not. Steve glared at him.

“Come on then – stop pouting and get in here.”

Tony blinked up at Steve, abashed. Steve let out an exasperated sigh and reached down, picking up the blanket from the floor. He patted Tony on the rump with one hand and motioned for Tony to go inside. Tony walked in; he hopped up on the bed, feeling the blanket and matress squish under his feet. Steve dropped the blanket he’d collected from the hallway on the floor beside the bed. He went into his dresser, and pulled out a pair of baggy pajama bottoms.

“I’ll just leave this at the foot of the bed, ok? You can put them on if you turn back.” He said, rubbing his eyes. Tony smiled at him.

“Sure Steve. That’s a good idea.”

Steve mumbled an agreement and slipped into the bed, not tucking in the blanket this time. Tony curled up on the pillow beside his head, not wanting to move too close; Steve reached up and dragged him off the pillow still on his side and tucked Tony under the blankets, wrapping his arm around him.

“Go to sleep Tony.” Steve mumbled, half asleep already.

“Ok Steve.”

 

 

Steve must have done some careful thinking the night before, because he seemed almost like a different person when they woke up from their morning nap. Tony followed him down the stairs, watching Steve as if he were some kind of National Geographic camera man trying to get to know some strange new species uncovered in the rainforest. Steve had changed in front of him into his day clothing. He’d been blushing when he did it, but he’d done it regardless. It was a start, Tony thought, and maybe it was why Steve had been so calm.

They sat on the couch together and when they were watching the noon news Tony accidentally changed back; Steve went backwards off the couch with a slightly less horrified squeak than before. He’d disappeared upstairs while Tony was struggling to loosen the collar so that he didn’t choke and had come back with the pair of pants; Steve had held out to him with one hand. He hadn’t looked in Tony’s direction until Tony had pulled them on and was at least half dressed. It was cute in a frustrating sort of way. Tony wouldn’t have minded Steve looking – he’d have been flattered at the very least if Steve had found the courage to give him a good once over.

Tony felt pretty certain that he shouldn’t tell Clint about the fact that he’d been naked on the couch. It would be funny to watch the horror spread across the archer’s face, but he didn’t really want to see what Clint would do if he found out – he assumed that it might involve gasoline and matches, or some kind of impromptu exorcism; possibly both. He figured that the fire department would thank him for keeping this particular secret.

Steve sat down next to him leaving some space between them and went back to watching the news while leaning against the arm of the couch, looking calm and collected. They had been debating on lunch options before Tony had turned back; the options and the argument had been long forgotten.

Tony slouched in place, studying his hands; he hadn’t seen his fingers for a long time and it was nice to see that they hadn’t really changed. Even his nails hadn’t grown longer and when he ran his hand over his beard, he could feel that there was no extra growth there. It was as if time had stopped for his human body. He commented about this to Steve, who shrugged and continued to watch the television as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. At least he hadn’t run off screaming. Maybe they could be friends after all. Right now, he’d rather get something to eat than dwell on possibilities.

“Man, I could really go for a burger. We should go get one.” Tony said, trying to appear casual about the offer to take Steve out. Steve turned and gave him a stern look, shaking his head.

“Maybe we should wait until we’re sure you’re permanently in the right body. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to take you outside if you’re still going to change back at random and… well. I think there would be some kind of public indecency charges leveled against you at the very least if you turn back human once you’re in your dog form again.” Steve said, sighing.

Tony deflated. He bit his lip, wanting to say that it wouldn’t be the first indecency charge he’d had, and held his tongue. He suggested that they order in Chinese food, and Steve had been willing to accept that instead of the burger; even if he couldn’t take Steve out, they could still eat together. They ate directly from the cartons, still looking at the television instead of each other. It turned out that Tony didn’t have to worry about having to stay in their uncomfortably tolerated silence for too long. Two hours later Tony was sitting in his dog form in the circle of pants that he had been wearing, grumbling while adamantly trying not to let Steve see him mope. Steve had carefully put the collar back on and then, as an afterthought, lifted Tony out of the pants and placed him on his lap, stroking his head gently.

“I guess we should start keeping a log about how long these transformations back end up being, huh?” Steve said, still petting Tony, who had gone from moping to passive acceptance.

“I guess.”

“It would be the responsible thing – at least then we’d be able to tell if there was some kind of… rhythm to it.” Steve pondered, turning the television off.

“Hey Jarvis. Can you keep a list of all the times I turn back and uh… how long each time lasts I guess.” Tony grumbled out.

“Noted sir. I will add the previous two transformations to the list. So far, the duration of the change has been increasing in length. You’re first transformation back into your human body lasted a total for forty seven minutes. Your second lasted an hour and a half sir. This time has been approximately three hours.” Jarvis said.

“That’s good!” Steve grinned, patting Tony on the head. Tony sighed. He’d never get enough to Steve’s hands; he’d probably never get to be touched by those hands again once this was over. The thought tugged at his heart and he closed his eyes, knowing that Steve would see it in his eyes if he didn’t.

“You’ll see – you’ll be back to normal in no time.” Steve reassured Tony. Tony tried to share his enthusiasm, but couldn’t.

 

 

They ate dinner in the kitchen with all of the Avengers sitting around the table. Tony was sitting on Steve’s lap again, having been placed there by Steve himself; it was an attempt at acceptance on Steve’s part. The pair of pants were sitting on the table beside Steve folded in a neat square. They had been following Tony around wherever they went; he didn’t quite resent the pants, but it seemed to make Steve feel paranoid if they went anywhere without them, so he put up with their presence and didn’t whine aloud.

They were sharing fortune cookies when Tony transformed again. Once more, Steve had a lap full of naked Tony, who laughed it off sheepishly and grabbed the pants from the table, trying to hide himself behind the empty box of takeout when he slipped quickly off Steve’s lap to pull the pants on. The other Avengers coughed and politely looked the other way. Clint had nodded approvingly to Steve, who had only paled a little this time and hadn’t even shoved Tony away when the transformation had happened.

Tony snatched his fortune cookie from the table once dressed and began to edge out of the room, feigning the need to go to the bathroom; he snuck away to his bedroom instead. He loosened the collar but didn’t bother taking it off – there wasn’t much point seeing as how he was going to turn back into a dog again at some point in the evening. No sense in going too far from the only thing that let him speak in human. He sat on the edge of his bed and then flopped backwards, looking up at the ceiling. It was a very nice ceiling. He’d spent many hours staring up at it over the years and it never got old; didn’t really change at all actually. Maybe that was why he liked staring at it in the first place.

Another few hours and he’d be back in his small, furry dog body again instead of his normal human one. Back to normal, Steve had said, but what good was _normal_ when he’d just be going back to the same old stunted conversations and awkward silences? Steve had been getting better about it – Tony was sure that they would remain friends, he was certain of this now. Steve looked at him differently, but it didn’t feel like he was angry with Tony anymore. Friends would be alright. Friends would be different and good all at once. Friends would be… challenging – he could tell that already. Looking at Steve with human eyes had been… painful. He had felt the warmth of Steve’s thighs under his and he’d had to fight to keep from flushing and looking up at Steve with want on his lips. He longed to find out if Steve had felt the same way – if Steve had felt the warmth of his body pressed against him and if he’d enjoyed it too. Tony, however, knew when to quit when he was ahead, especially now that he knew Steve better. If Steve was interested in him – if he was interested in starting a relationship of some kind outside of their newly formed friendship, then Tony would be there waiting in the background. Natasha had been right – he needed to back off and let Steve do his thinking.

He felt the bed lower as Steve sat down beside him and let out an audible sigh of annoyance that he hadn’t been able to hear Steve come in over the sound of his own thoughts bouncing around in his skull. He hadn’t even closed the door after he’d come in; he’d just flopped down and started daydreaming.

“Hiding?” Steve asked, a knowing smile on his lips. He reached out and patted Tony’s leg, half turned to face Tony where he lay sprawled on the bed. Steve’s thigh pressed lightly against his, distracting Tony from his exasperation.

“Not exactly hiding… just trying to give you guys all a break from seeing my pasty white ass.” Tony joked, rubbing his face with both hands.

Steve smirked. “I’m sure they’re grateful.” He laughed. His hand squeezed Tony’s leg and Tony had a few seconds of blissful disorientation before he came crashing back to reality. Steve’s smile faltered a little when he noticed the change but didn’t fade. He left his hand on Tony’s leg, sagging back into the bed to lie beside him. Steve’s shoulder pressed against Tony’s as he stretched out, taking more space up on the other side of the bed; the fabric of Steve’s shirt itched against Tony’s bare skin.

“I know you’re concerned about what all this means and I can promise you that it’ll be fine. I’m still going to be your friend you know – you don’t have to worry about that.” Steve said cheerfully. He sounded genuine, and Tony was pleased to find that he actually believed him.

“Well good. I like having you as my friend.” Tony admitted, afraid to move in case it scared Steve off.

“Me too.” Steve said.

“So how long do you think it’s going to last this time? Should we start a pool or something – I’m sure Coulson would be all over that. Betting on the day I finally get rid of this damned crystal. Maybe it’ll go back to SHIELD and they’ll have all the agents betting – “ Tony babbled.

Steve’s hand squeezed his leg again gently; breaking off Tony’s rambling as the blood stopped flowing to his brain.

“Steve?” Tony asked, clearing his throat.

“Yes?”

Tony turned his head to the side. He looked at Steve, who was looking at him, amused and calm at the same time.

No.

Now wasn’t the time.

“Nothing – never mind.” Tony smiled.

It was nice to just sit with Steve like this. He couldn’t have asked for anything more.

 

 

It was four hours before Tony changed back into a dog this time. He had set a new record, according to Jarvis when he woke up, and he wasn’t at all happy about it. He had fallen asleep next to Steve with his face buried in Steve’s side and it had been the best nap of his life – of course, that had been until he woke up and realized that he was a dog, and that he was alone.

He got up, sleep addling his brain and movements; he tried not to trip on himself and almost succeeded. He looked around the mansion to see where Steve had wandered off to. He checked the bathrooms and then started down the hallway to head to Steve’s room, finding that all the other doors were closed to him. Steve’s door was open and Tony jumped up onto the bed, sniffing the many scent paths to see where Steve had been. The bed was empty, still bearing its hospital corners and it didn’t look like Steve had been sleeping there anyways. He felt a goofy smile spreading across his face at the thought of Steve having been sleeping beside him the whole time.

“Hey Jarvis.” Tony called out, settling down on his blanket on Steve’s bed. He rested his head on his paws, tail tucked under his chin.

“Yes sir?” Jarvis replied.

“Where’s Steve?”

“Captain Rogers was called away two hours ago. He was informed that the Avengers presence was required and went with them in the Quinjet to go battle some Doom Bots sir. He told me to inform you that he would be coming home in a few hours, but he was unsure of the time frame. Would you like me to give him a message for you?” Jarvis said.

Tony shook his head, closing his eyes.

“Nah – It’d probably just creep him out if I told him the bed was too cold without him.”

“Do you require anything else sir?”

“No. Thank you, Jarvis. You can go back to doing whatever you were doing – I’ll just catch a little more sleep.”

“Very good sir.”

 

Tony woke up later when Steve slid under the covers beside him. His hair was wet from the shower and he had pronounced bags under his eyes, exhausted from the fighting. The alarm clock beside him read six am. Steve had been gone most of the night then. Steve yawned and rolled closer to Tony, fingers tangling in his fur.

“It _is_ cold here. I wish I’d just stayed in bed earlier.” Steve grumbled. Tony’s sleep fogged brain barely registered Steve’s words; by the time he realized what Steve had said, Steve was busy snoring into his pillow beside him, dead to the world.

 

The next week was filled with Avengers business. Steve and the others were called out a total of seventeen times, leaving Tony mostly on his own for the duration of their missions. Tony spent his human hours piddling around in the workshop, trying to catch up with the many upgrades and work orders that had been piling up on his desk during his days trapped as a dog; he tried not to work with disappointment hanging over his head, knowing that he’d be able to physically assist the Avengers soon enough. He sent Pepper a text with an update on his condition and then went back to work, keeping his head down and hair out of the way of the more flammable items in the workshop.

His fingers felt clumsy and fat, not at all the way they had felt before. He hoped that the sensations would go away and that it wasn’t some kind of residual nerve damage due to the magic used on him. He kept the collar around his neck, ignoring the giggles Clint and Natasha made whenever he walked past them. He didn’t want to be trapped in his workshop without some way to break free into the outside world, especially now that the Avengers were going out on missions again, and he arranged with Jarvis so that the workshop doors would open on his command in either human or dog voice. He also instructed the AI to shut off any blow torches or electrical gear if he transformed back or was in the process of it while working with anything hazardous; Jarvis had snarkily told him that he’d already planned ahead for that, and Tony had to roll his eyes at him to keep from laughing aloud.

Dummy stood at his side when he worked, cooing happily, watching him with a fire extinguisher in hand – this had been one of Steve’s requests, although to tell the truth Tony would have arrange it himself if Steve hadn’t taken the liberty of doing it for him. He smiled, thinking about the way Steve had looked that morning when he had gotten the call while they had been eating breakfast. Steve had been enjoying his oatmeal; he’d forced Tony to eat some too, Tony had made it sweet as sin to compensate for the whole oatmeal thing, but that had been beside the point. Steve’s face had fallen the moment the Avengers alarm had gone off and he’d gotten up, grumbling to himself about Doom needing to learn how to take a day off, squeezing Tony’s shoulder absentmindedly as he left the room to go suit up.

Tony had been grinning for hours after that. Jarvis had informed him that if he continued, his face might stick that way, although the AI had seemed to think that this was a good idea and not a bad one for once. Tony had waved him off and finished his breakfast, scraping Steve’s almost finished bowl of oatmeal into the garbage so that he could put both into the dishwasher before he made his way down to the workshop to get some work done. Jarvis had mocking him, saying that Steve had been a good influence on him and Tony had just grinned at that too.

Tony had begun working on a few upgrades for Steve’s armor after he finished off his other work. He knew that it would make him feel better to know that Steve didn’t have to worry about being completely mangled on a mission. The fibre he was incorporating into the Avengers armor was much more durable than the previous incarnations had been. It was an amalgamation of Kevlar and Adamantium – something that he’d been tweaking for ages but had never really gotten around to finishing until now. He worked mindlessly, not thinking about anything other than the look that would be on Steve’s face when he gave it to him. He wanted to cherish that moment – he’d probably get Jarvis to take pictures just so that he could see that look over and over again.

By the time he looked up at the clock again, he realized that it was well past dinner and that it was going on well into the middle of the night. He rubbed his eyes, stomach rumbling and put down his blow torch, shutting it off. He wondered if Steve and the others were back yet and asked Jarvis, who informed him that they had indeed come back a few hours ago but that they had gone directly to sleep instead of grabbing a bite to eat. They had all been really tired then, if they’d skipped dinner.

Tony felt a little disappointed that Steve hadn’t come down to drag him upstairs. He put his files on standby and trudged up the stairs, stopping in the kitchen to put some leftovers in the microwave before he made his way up to Steve’s room, intending to offer him a shared meal. The hallway was dark upstairs, and Tony was too lazy to turn on the light, so he went down the hall half blind, feeling his way along the wall. He stopped a few inches from Steve’s door, his left hand resting on the doorframe. He realized that Steve’s door was open a crack and noticed that there were some rather interesting noises coming from inside the super soldier’s room.

He looked through the crack in the door, thinking of calling out to Steve, and fell silent as he saw what Steve was doing. Lamp light pooled around Steve’s golden hair and pale skin, throwing him into half shadows. Steve was lying in his bed; his body was half under the covers. The Captain America uniform was lying on the carpet beside the bed, forgotten as if it had been peeled off in haste. Tony could see the skin of Steve’s thighs and stomach and everything glorious in between; he could see Steve’s hand grasping his hardened cock, Steve’s head thrown back against the pillow, sweat dripping down his face. Steve’s eyes were squeezed shut as he concentrated at the task at hand.

“Oh god. Please…” Steve groaned, hips bucking up into his own hand.

Tony froze. Should he be watching this? He stood, mesmerized by the way Steve’s stomach muscles rippled as he continued to stroke himself, thighs clenching and unclenching in time to his thrusts. Tony leaned a little closer to the crack in the door, hearing Steve murmuring something familiar – a name.

“Tony…” Steve moaned, stroking himself vigorously with one hand, his other hand busy tweaking one of his nipples. He’d been at this for a while, because the head of his cock was engorged and red, pre-cum dripping down the sides. Steve’s hand moved down to cup his balls, squeezing and releasing; Tony felt his own cock become heavy against his leg, standing out against the thin fabric of his sweat pants. He stepped back from the door, turned on and embarrassed by what he was seeing, knowing that this was something private and personal and that he definitely shouldn’t be watching even if it was something from his most fervid of dreams.

Steve continued to stroke himself from root to tip as Tony watched, calling out Tony’s name as he climaxed and came all over his hand. He panted, running his fingers through his hair and then looked up at the ceiling, half of his face illuminated dimly by the lamp at his bedside. Tony held in a moan of his own, a shiver running down his spine at the sight of Steve, debauched and satisfied looking from his orgasm.

“God…” Steve murmured, panting for breath. He looked down at himself, at the way his cock was lying limply against his leg and let out a groan, wiping his hand on a piece of Kleenex from the box beside his alarm clock. He crumpled the Kleenex up and held it tightly in his hand, glaring at it.

“Look at what you’re doing to yourself Steve. Jesus. He doesn’t even like you that way and you’re busy jerking off to the thought of his mouth on you. You’re pathetic – he hasn’t even ever hinted that he’s interested… He punched you in the face when you mentioned it to him for god’s sake…” Steve said softly; Tony strained to hear the confession, eyes widening.

“You took too long to figure it out, and now you’re his friend and… “ Steve continued, rubbing the bridge of his nose with the hand not clutching the Kleenex.

Tony couldn’t stay and listen any more. He couldn’t just walk into the room and proclaim his love for Steve – oh god, he loved Steve, didn’t he? He did – He couldn’t just accost Steve because he’d seen _this_. Tony turned and fled down the hallway, creeping down the stairs as softly as he could, not sure if Steve had heard him but damn sure that he didn’t know how to explain his presence if Steve had.

He took his takeout food from the microwave with shaking hands and sat at the table, cradling it as if it were a precious glass of water and he were in the desert. He’d never been so aroused and conflicted at the same time before. He wanted a real drink; something hard. For the first time since he’d been turned into a dog, he craved having a long burning draught of whiskey tear its way down his throat. He looked across the room at the liquor cabinet and then shook his head, knowing that he’d be turning back into a dog soon and that he didn’t want to have to explain why there was suddenly a very drunk dog wandering around the mansion.

Steve thought of him in a more than _just-friend’s_ way. Steve thought of him as _masturbation_ fuel. Steve _liked_ him. These thoughts whirled around inside his head, bashing against his skull at such speed and velocity that he thought he’d have a nose bleed from the impact.

He raised his fork to his mouth and found that he didn’t have the coordination to get it into his mouth – he flushed at the thought of that. The thought of his mouth and Steve’s cock –

He swallowed hard.

“Tony?”

Steve’s voice cut through the confusion. Tony looked up from his food, blinking back tears as he choked on his own spit. Steve was toweling his hair dry, wearing a pair of battered looking sweat pants and a white t-shirt that clung fiercely to his damp chest. Tony found himself swallowing involuntarily at the sight of the band of skin between the shirt and Steve’s pants as Steve raised his arms to continue drying his hair.

“I thought I’d have to go down there and drag you out.” Steve teased, folding his towel up and sitting down across from Tony. “I see you found the takeout. Is there any left?”

Tony nodded numbly, the fork slipping from his hand and dropping into the box, sitting nestled beside an egg roll. Steve took the box from his hands and stabbed the egg roll. He chewed on it thoughtfully, setting the takeout box down on the table; Tony found it strangely erotic to watch him eat. Steve frowned as he noticed Tony’s dazed expression.

“Something the matter?” Steve asked, concerned. He touched the hand Tony had dropped to the table and Tony smiled weakly at him.

“Just worrying about… changing back.” Tony lied; he was worried about changing back, but really, he was far more concerned about having to focus on a conversation with Steve after he’d seen what Steve had been up to all alone in his room.

Steve squeezed his hand; Tony pulled his hand away and scratched his head, laughing nervously.

“It’s stupid, but yeah… I guess I just forgot about it with the way things were going in the workshop today. I got some upgrades done for everybody – and I was working on this awesome way to take out Doom Bots to save you guys some time – it’s a modified EMP field that can be used to target electrical objects of the same type – works from a distance – “ Tony babbled. He wrung his hands, trying to push the thoughts of Steve out of his head for a moment, wanting to keep from saying something particularly embarrassing. Mentioning how nice Steve’s mouth looked at the moment would probably count as embarrassing now that he thought about it.

Steve’s smile dimmed, but remained on his face.

“That’s nice. Did you have fun working?” He asked kindly, eating more of the takeout. He didn’t look at Tony, who was busy trying not to look into Steve’s eyes in case Steve could see the filthy images looping over and over again in his brain.

“Yeah it was alright. A little lonely though. You’ll have to come keep me company more often.” Tony blurted.

Good Job Tony, he thought, inwardly smacking himself in the face. Blatantly beg him to visit you. That’ll get Steve to like you – wait. Tony frowned, looking down at his hands. Something was changing. He could feel the transformation happen before it actually occurred this time. When he came back to himself, he was sitting with his head poking out the neck hole of the shirt; his mind was now racing.

He didn’t have to get Steve to like him. Steve _did_ like him. Steve had apparently liked him for some time. Steve liked him!

He could feel his tail wagging underneath the layer of sweat pants and glared at the offending limb, cursing it for being so obviously happy. He grinned up at Steve, who sighed wearily and set the takeout down on the table to free Tony from the clothing. Tony allowed himself to be settled on Steve’s lap as the super soldier continued to eat, chewing contemplatively. He offered Tony a piece of sweet and sour pork and Tony ate it from between his fingers, thinking carefully about what he wanted to do in the future.

He would make a plan! Tony Stark was very good with plans. He liked plans; they made things so easy to carry out. He could do this. He looked up, wet nose brushing against the fabric of Steve’s much-too-tight shirt and grinned. Steve returned the look, rolling his eyes.

“You seem happy about something.” Steve commented, eating another forkful of food. Tony shrugged.

“Just plotting. Nothing to worry about. Trust me.”

“Uh huh. Plotting, you say… I don’t know if I should be concerned by that or not. ” Steve finished off the food, crushing the box with one hand. He tucked Tony under one arm and stood up, carrying him to the garbage can so that he could dispose of the crushed takeout box. He set the fork carefully in the sink and hoisted Tony up higher, settling him against his hip.

“Ok, well, let’s go to bed then.” Steve said.

Tony grinned. He definitely wanted to hear those words again in a different context. He wanted to hear those words again and again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony makes his move. Steve moves in a different direction...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for awkward sexy-time. If you don't want to read it... well....

Tony spent the first hours after breakfast planning; then he spent the other half of the day planning out how to enact his plan. He wasted most of the day as a dog and had to begrudgingly get Jarvis to help him figure out how he would be able to get everything he would need ready in time for nighttime. Steve and the Avengers were out on patrol again; this time they were helping Doom get control of some of his most _precious_ robots who had decided to mutiny against him and were attempting to take out half of his in-town laboratory while still carrying out part of their initial mission to destroy the baking district. Apparently someone had made a less than perfect scone, and Doom wasn’t having _any_ of that shit. Tony had found that amusing; Steve hadn’t, and he’d taken the EMP generator with him in secret, not wanting Doom to see it unless it was necessary. Steve would be gone for the rest of the day he had said. With clean up, it might be even longer.

Tony hoped that his transformation into human would last longer this time; he prayed that he might be able to stick around as himself this time too. He didn’t want to turn back into a dog at some strange moment – he didn’t know if he could live with himself if he ended up traumatizing Steve somehow. If things worked out properly, he’d be having a very _good_ night.

He felt giddy and chased his tail around in circles for fifteen minutes until he could get control of his brain again. Jarvis found this particularly amusing and sent Dummy after him, causing him to run around with the concerned robot hooting plaintively at him as he chased him through the workshop with his fire extinguisher held out in front of him.

Tony had been bad. He’d found what he needed in one of his dresser drawers from months ago – probably from the days of Pepper or maybe from some of his seedier days before that. It hadn’t really mattered; most of that stuff didn’t exactly expire. He was glad that he hadn’t had to go to the store because if Steve had caught him wandering around outside the mansion there would have been hell to pay, even if it was for a good cause; he’d also probably have to explain why he was down that certain aisle of the drug store and wouldn’t that be a fun conversation. He’d had to pull the dresser drawer out with his paws and teeth, which had been yet another lesson in ‘why fingers and hands are awesome’. It had taken him almost twenty terrifying minutes to get the drawer open wide enough to get his head in and he’d had to be very delicate when he pulled the items in question out to make sure that he didn’t puncture anything with his sharp teeth.

Getting it all into Steve’s dresser had been quite another matter entirely. He’d had to do it quickly, knowing that Steve could come back at any moment and even though he had gotten Jarvis to act as his eyes, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to get in and out in time without being caught and suspiciously stared at. He was pretty sure that Natasha suspected something was going on, because she’d given him a concerned look earlier at breakfast and told him to be careful. Steve had been standing beside her, adjusting his cowl, and had been oblivious to the double meaning she’d attached to the words. Tony was glad that Steve was a little slow on the uptake. He’d have been mortified if Steve had left the mansion knowing.

Tony was sure that things would turn out well. Steve liked him. Tony liked Steve. Steve liked him – it would be fine. That didn’t keep Tony from worrying about it for the next four hours though. He had put everything back in its rightful place and had made sure to pick a drawer that Steve didn’t use normally, so it would be unlikely that Steve would stumble upon anything by accident before Tony could enact his plan to begin with. Even so… it was going to take luck. He hated having to count on luck – it felt too much like dealing with magic.

 

When dinner rolled around, Tony was still in his dog form, and the Avengers were back. He was beginning to get nervous, but he knew that he’d have to turn back eventually – he’d been paying close attention to the records Jarvis had been keeping for him, and he was close to getting thirteen hours of human time if things went as he calculated. Jarvis had reassured him of this several times already – he had kept asking, and his frayed nerves must have shown, because Jarvis had been giving him hour by hour updates just to keep him from eating his tail in frustration.

Tony ate dinner on Steve’s lap, trying to ignore the fact that what he had planned would probably result in him being in a somewhat similar position later on, and made pleasant conversation with everyone. He excused himself from the table when Steve did and shadowed him as he went up the stairs. The plan wasn’t going exactly as he’d hoped that it would. He’d been hoping to get a few minutes alone with his human body before things went down, and it was likely that this wasn’t going to happen.

Steve noticed his frustration and tried to reassure him by offering to take him to the sparring room so that they could throw around a ball; Steve, the sweet thing, assumed that Tony’s twitchiness was because he hadn’t been able to go outside for the past week and a half. Tony had noticed in turn that Steve seemed to be just as nervous, as if he was suspecting that something was going to happen, but didn’t know exactly what to expect.

Tony debated on asking Natasha for advice about the jitters he was feeling – he wondered if she knew some kind of secret body language in Steve-ese that might give him some kind of inside information, but one look in his direction from her had left him running out of the room to keep from making a wet spot on the carpet.

When bed time finally rolled around, there had been no transformation. He was disappointed, and Steve had seen that, but there wasn’t anything either of them could do about it. Tony crawled into bed with Steve, spooned against Steve’s belly with his furry head resting against Steve’s arm, and stayed up listening to Steve snoring away, unaware of Tony’s inner turmoil.

He’d have to try for another day – the plan was still good. He’d just have to wait and see. Steve snuggled into him in his sleep, body curling around Tony’s.

The transformation happened before Tony could breathe out a sigh of pleasure. He was suddenly naked, wrapped in Steve’s strong arms, feeling the heat of Steve’s breath on the back of his neck. He rolled over, pressing his chest against Steve’s and slid one hand carefully under the back of Steve’s shirt, tracing lazy circles with his thumb on Steve’s back.

The moan was unexpected. Steve let out a sound of pure lust, something Tony had only thought was possible in bad pornos and his eye fluttered open; He was already hard, his arousal rubbing through his thin boxers against the warmth of Tony’s bare thigh.

Tony smiled at Steve, moving forward to nuzzle against Steve’s cheek.

“Hey.” He whispered, moving his hand again in a slow circle that traveled higher up between Steve’s shoulder blades this time. Steve’s eyes took a moment to focus, filled with a mixture of hazed lust and sleep. He flushed, the pink spreading from his hairline down to his neck, vanishing underneath the shirt he was wearing as it carried on downward.

“Tony –“

Tony covered Steve’s mouth with his; it was less than perfect, his lips were chapped and his beard scratched against Steve’s face, making Steve wince, but it was a kiss nonetheless. Tony moved his hand against Steve’s back again and Steve involuntarily moaned into his mouth; Tony took his chance and kissed him again, this time smoother and with more tongue. Steve’s arms wrapped around him; one arm circled around Tony’s waist and the other settled to hold Tony in position, Steve’s fingers tangling in his hair.

When they finally broke apart, Tony was hard, gasping for breath, and pressed against Steve’s own hard cock. He smiled at Steve, hands pushing at Steve’s shirt, wanting it off so that they could be pressed together, skin on skin, and Steve obliged, twisting to let Tony pull the fabric up and over his head.

Tony pulled the blanket down and ran his hands over the well-defined muscles of Steve’s chest; He traced his fingers along Steve’s abs, hearing a groan come from his own throat unbidden. Steve’s pupils were blown, more black than blue, and he seemed pleasantly confused.

“Tony… Is this a dream?” He asked as Tony gingerly traced his way down to the sharp cut of his hip, stopping at the band of his boxers. Tony paused there, hesitant, not wanting to move lower until Steve had given some kind of permission.

“If it is, it’s a damn good one and I’m having it.” Tony purred back. He pushed Steve flat against the mattress, straddling Steve’s hips; Tony looked down at him through dark lashes, taking in the beauty that was Steve. Steve reached up, stroking the side of Tony’s face and then shivered as Tony rubbed against him, eyes half closed with longing.

“Tony.”

The word was his name and also a warning. Steve was unsure. Tony leaned down, kissing Steve, taking Steve’s hand in his own, intertwining their fingers. He’d have to reassure him.

“Steve… I really want you.” Tony whispered. He felt Steve’s hand move to his thigh, fingers digging into the flesh there so hard that he was sure he was going to bruise later, bruises he would remember. His cock rubbed against the fabric of Steve’s boxers and he stifled a loud groan.

“Tony… I don’t…” Steve stuttered. He felt Tony’s hardness against him and flushed an even deeper shade of red, eyes wide and amazed.

“Do you want to? You… you can have me if you want me Steve.” Tony asked. He took Steve’s hand and slipped it lower, onto his ass. Steve squeezed him and Tony almost came undone with just that one firm touch. He looked down at Steve, breathing heavy.

“I can have… you?” Steve asked, surprised.

“I uh… I’m not really all that experienced with how this works, but I’ve um… I watched a few videos and I’ve got the gist of it.” Tony blurted, flushing his own shade of pink. Steve’s eyes narrowed. He pushed Tony up but didn’t shove him completely off of him. Tony was left straddling Steve’s thighs, Steve’s large hands on his midsection.

“Tony.”

“Steve.”

Steve stared at him, eyes hungry and confused.

“I don’t know what to do.” Steve whispered, stroking his way up Tony’s side, hand resting on Tony’s shoulder. He looked down and saw Tony’s cock lying full and hard against his boxers beside his own straining member and grasped Tony’s face, kissing him passionately, hands roaming over Tony’s shoulders and ass. He squeezed again and Tony moaned into his mouth, grinding forwards by accident when his hips jerked of their own accord. Tony looked embarrassedly at Steve, fluttering his eyelashes and cleared his throat.

“Need to get those shorts off.” Tony murmured, fingers reaching down to slip under the waistband. Steve stiffened and then relaxed as Tony rubbed circles with his thumb against the skin there.

“I trust you Steve. You trust me?” Tony asked. He locked eyes with Steve, not moving his hand any further.

Steve nodded vigorously, slipping his own hand in with Tony’s. Their hands moved together down under the fabric towards Steve’s cock and when hands met cock, Steve’s eyes widened in astonishment. Steve was warm in Tony’s hand; warm and throbbing. Tony stroked him with a finger and Steve choked on his own moan, his hand grabbing Tony’s, stilling it.

“Wait – I…”

Steve swallowed loudly. He pushed Tony back off of him, settling him on the bed and then pulled his boxers down and off in one movement, throwing them onto the floor. He stared at his own nakedness, eyes wide at the way his cock had gotten so hard and rigid from Tony’s touch. Tony did his own looking as well; he smiled softly when he caught Steve’s gaze and moved forwards to straddle Steve’s waist again, feeling the hot press of Steve’s cock against his ass as he sat on him.

“Fuck… Steve…” Tony groaned, capturing his face and kissing him again. He kissed his way down to Steve’s neck, sucking at his earlobe on his way and heard Steve moan in response; Steve’s cock jerked up against his belly as Tony’s tongue licked its way down Steve’s neck to his collar bone. He sucked a red mark there too, nibbling. Steve’s hand grabbed him by the back of the neck and suddenly Tony was upside down and lying on his back underneath Steve, who was kissing his way down Tony’s front, not pausing to even breathe, nipping whatever skin found its way near his lips. Tony felt the air stick to each wet kiss on his skin. He spread his legs invitingly and Steve slid between them, hands moving all over, not knowing where to touch next, touching everything. Steve looked down at Tony, gasping for breath and grasped Tony’s shaft in his hand, pumping gently. Tony leaned back against the pillows, eyes closing as he reveled in Steve’s touch.

“Fuck… Steve… I…”

Tony’s eyes snapped open as he felt Steve’s neglected cock rub a wet streak across his thigh, resting against his hip. His own cock twitched in response.

“The drawer – open it up. I want you inside me.” Tony said sharply. He smiled as Steve’s eyes widened in the darkness, hands finally stumbling to a halt. Steve released Tony’s cock and moved mechanically to the drawer Tony gestured at, fingers fumbling with the knobs to pull it open. He looked inside and saw what Tony had put there earlier.

A bottle of sealed lube and a handful of condoms dropped onto the pillow beside Tony’s head. Steve cleared his throat.

“I don’t remember putting those there.” He said softly, eyes narrowing, but not in an angry way. He leaned over Tony, capturing his face in his hands and stroked Tony’s chin, thumb rubbing against the bristles of his beard.

“I’ve been a naughty boy.” Tony said, smirking. He reached out and took the lube from the pillow, breaking the plastic seal. He tossed the little plastic seal away and sat up a little, pushing a pillow down under his hips. This was as far as he’d gotten in his plan. He was playing it blind from here on out.

“You can put your fingers in me if you want.” Tony moaned, spreading his legs and pushing his knees against his chest. He looked down between his legs at his cock and grinned as Steve slipped into place, kneeling in front of him so that Tony’s lower back and hips were on his lap. Tony handed him the lube and Steve stared blankly at it, not sure what to do.

Tony reached out and took the lube back from his unresisting hands; he squeezed a generous amount in his hand and coated his fingers, watching Steve’s face as he did so. Steve’s eyes never left his hands, mesmerized. Tony angled himself carefully and then rubbed a lubed up thumb against his hole. He’d never touched himself like this before. He took pleasure in the sensation and felt Steve tense underneath the back of his thighs as he slipped one finger inside, testing his body. Tony panted, feeling a slight burn from the intrusion; he wasn’t bothered by it, it was a satisfying burn. He continued to probe himself for a moment before he put the bottle in Steve’s hand.

“Go ahead – god you’re going to feel amazing.” Tony groaned, pulling his own finger out, feeling empty without its presence. Steve watched him, jaw dropping, and then reached for the lube. Steve slowly lubed up his finger and mimicked what Tony had done. He pushed his finger inside without prompting and Tony couldn’t help the sound he made when Steve was knuckle deep inside him. Steve’s finger moved, wiggling and Tony’s legs spread wider.

“Another. Give me… another…”

Steve obliged, slipping a second lubed finger into his hole. The stretch was immense. Steve’s fingers were so much bigger than Tony’s and he’d never had anything inside him before. It was almost too much. Tony let out a gasp of pain and Steve froze.

“Are you – “

“I’m fine, just go slowly. Have to go slowly – I’ve never… I’ve never done this before.” Tony whimpered. He captured Steve’s wrist when Steve tried to pull his fingers out and squeezed his wrist gently, trying to reassure him. Steve looked concerned, lustful expression morphing into a frown.

“It’s ok Steve.” Tony assured him. He pushed Steve’s half withdrawn fingers back inside of himself and relished the burn this time, feeling fuller than he’d ever felt before; he arched his back. He pushed against Steve’s fingers, moaning and finally, Steve relaxed and began to move his fingers again.

“You have to… scissor them – god yes. Just like that. Do that again – please – god -” Tony choked out. Steve followed instructions as Tony moaned them out to him, intent on doing things slowly and carefully as to not hurt him. Tony pulled Steve into a kiss, trying to kiss away the frown lines on his face.

“You still with me big guy?” He asked Steve, whispering into his ear. Steve’s cock nudged against his hip, hot and hard, saying more than his words ever could.

“Jesus –“ Steve gasped into his mouth.

“Give me another one then – and be slower this time.” Tony instructed. Steve pulled his fingers out entirely and then squirted some more lube on his fingers without being asked. Tony smiled at him, arching his back to give Steve more access. He inched higher up Steve’s legs, feeling Steve’s cock rubbing against his ass when he lifted his legs and settled them on either side of Steve’s shoulders, framing Steve’s head with his heels. Steve looked down at him from between his legs. He stared at Tony’s face, watching the pleasure light up there as he slid his fingers in one and a time, slowly sliding the third in to join the other two. Tony winced and he stopped, frowning again.

“Are you – “

“Just give me a second to get used to it.” Tony grumbled, reaching out to stroke his cock. He needed to relax – the video had said that he would need to be relaxed. He strained to remember the instructions; even with his eidetic memory, the pleasure of Steve’s hands made it hard to recall everything in detail. Steve’s fingers moved within him and he moaned again, calling out Steve’s name. Steve’s cock rubbed harder against the back of his thigh. When the burning sensation inside him lessened, Tony began to push down on Steve’s fingers, burying them deep inside himself. Steve looked dumbfounded.

“Tony…”

“God Steve… you feel great.” Tony whispered, grinding his hips down, his hole stretching further. “I think you can fuck me now if you want to.”

Steve pulled his fingers out slowly. His back stiffened as he looked down at his glistening digits. Tony pulled himself up, seeing the problem before Steve did. Steve had never had sex; he’d probably never even put a condom on himself before. He turned, taking one of the condoms from the pillow and ripped the wrapper, pulling it out. He slid the condom down over Steve’s cock and stroked him gently, pinching the base to make him harder; he could feel the veins in Steve’s cock and stroked the base fondly, having dreamed about Steve’s cock so many times before. He’d learn how to give Steve a proper blowjob someday. He knew Steve would appreciate that. Steve’s leaned forwards and rested his head on Tony’s shoulder.

“Tony…” Steve moaned softly. He kissed the skin where Tony’s shoulder met his neck, biting lightly, sucking at the reddened flesh. Tony rubbed lube on Steve’s shaft, using way more than was necessary. He liked the way it made Steve’s cock glisten in the blue light of the arc reactor. He turned around to give Steve access to him from behind and closed the lube bottle, dropping it onto the pillow beside them. Tony spread his legs, straddling Steve’s thighs and kneeled, holding himself up with his hands. He felt the warmth of Steve’s cock pressing against the skin beneath his hole.

“Your turn. Slid on in – nice and slow.” Tony said.

Steve didn’t move.

Tony turned, looking up at Steve’s face, concerned. Steve’s eyes were closed and he was biting his lip. Tony reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it.

“Hey… You alright?” He asked.

Steve opened his eyes a crack, peering down at Tony.

“I don’t know.” Steve responded, voice thick and rough. He looked down at Tony, perched on his lap with his ass pressed against Steve’s cock, and bit his lip harder.

“Hey – we… we don’t have to – if you don’t feel comfortable – “

Steve’s hand clamped down on Tony’s hip, silencing him.

“Fuck yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

“Push onto my dick and fuck yourself.”

Tony felt his face flush at the command; Steve’s tone made him almost unbearably hard. He raised himself up and used one of his hands to guide himself onto Steve’s cock, pushing back against him. The blunt head of Steve’s cock pressed in, opening Tony up and he gasped, stopping. It didn’t hurt, just burned with a mixture of pleasure and pain, an unfamiliar fire. He slid down slowly, inch by inch, feeling Steve’s heat slipping inside, filling himself with Steve. When his ass was flush with Steve’s hip, he moved forwards, letting Steve’s cock slide out slowly, learning how much pressure to exert to push in and pull out.

Tony dug his fingers into the blanket in front of him as Steve’s cock twitched inside him and he moaned for all he was worth, clenching down on Steve. Steve groaned in response, resting his head against Tony’s back; Tony began to push himself back down on Steve’s cock, riding slowly. He increased speed after he knew his body wanted more and leaned back against Steve, fisting his own cock. He felt Steve’s hands join his and then one hand slipped free to grasp Tony’s hip, holding him in place.

“Is this good for you – is this what you want?” Steve grunted into Tony’s back. Tony wanted to kiss him, but the angle wasn’t right so he slipped Steve’s hand off his cock and kissed it instead despite ache he felt at the loss of contact.

“It’s good Steve – but I want you to fuck me – please?” Tony begged, pushing down and pulling up again and again. Steve didn’t move behind him, panting against Tony, his hot breath blowing against Tony’s neck. Tony continued to ride Steve’s cock, feeling close – he squeezed Steve’s hand and gasped again, reaching for his own neglected cock, finding it with fumbling fingers.

Steve began to thrust – the movement caught him off guard. It was slow and lazy, as if Steve had forgotten what he was doing, and then he moved faster, building in speed until Tony felt the top of his head bump against Steve’s chin as Steve leaned forwards. Tony blinked back stars and then found himself coming with Steve’s name on his lips; he came harder than ever before. Steve wrapped his arms around him, holding him in place and continued to thrust, bumping against a spot inside Tony that had him seeing white; he moaned, body screaming out pleasure with each meeting of flesh, calling out for Steve, crying out for more.

Steve came with a shuddering gasp. His arms held Tony tightly against him; Tony’s legs framed his. Steve panted against Tony’s neck. He kissed Tony’s shoulder again, kissed his cheek and then slowly slid out from inside, pulling his wilting cock free. Tony groaned at the loss and went boneless in Steve’s grasp, allowing himself to be slid off of Steve and onto his side on the bed. Steve looked down at him, hands clutching at the used condom. He managed to get it tied and then dropped it into the garbage can beside the bed. Tony smiled up at him through his eyelashes, drained of all energy.

“Hey… come here, you.” Tony murmured, reaching up to grab at Steve. Steve pulled away and swallowed hard, moving to the edge of the bed.

“I have to – “ Steve picked up his clothing from the floor and staggered into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Tony heard the water running and blinked away sleep, trying to figure out what had just happened. He’d had sex – remarkably good sex for a first time – why was Steve gone then?

Tony sat upright, body not wanting to agree with him, and winced as his lower back protested at the move. He grabbed a Kleenex from Steve’s bedside table and wiped at himself weakly, fingers not wanting to cooperate. He stared at the bathroom door, wanting to yank it open to find Steve so that he could bury himself in Steve’s warm chest.

“Hey – you ok in there?” Tony called out, stumbling from the bed to knock lightly on the door.

He heard no sound from inside of acknowledgement and tried the door handle. The door opened easily and he was blinded by the bathroom lights; Tony lifted one hand to shield his eyes and saw Steve leaning against the counter, hands planted firmly on either sides of the sink. The tap was on, pouring water down into the basin. Steve was looking down the drain, he was pale and agitated.

“Steve?”

Steve jerked out of his reverie, looking up from the drain. He swallowed roughly, wiping at his wet face with the back of his hand before he could meet Tony’s gaze.

“Can you go? Please?” Steve asked meekly.

“From the bathroom or from the room?” Tony asked back, feeling something cold and heavy coil up in the pit of his stomach.

“From the room. Please. I can’t do this right now – I can’t…”

Steve turned away from Tony and turned to the shower, not facing him.

“Steve – I“ Tony started. His voice was drowned out by the sound of the shower turning on. Steve stepped inside and closed the curtains, pulling them tight around the stall as if using them as a forcefield to keep Tony out.

“Just go Tony. Please.”

“Steve – “

“Just GO!” Steve shouted.

Tony looked down at his feet. He felt smaller than small. He wrapped his arms around himself and walked out of the bathroom, stumbling on the carpet. He’d been rejected by lovers before; somehow this felt different. He picked up the pair of pants Steve had given him and pulled them on quickly, confused and upset. He’d thought things had gone well – Steve had been there with him, he’d been enjoying himself and he hadn’t told Tony to stop – he’d been happy!

Tony looked at the bathroom behind him, squinting into the light. Steve didn’t emerge from the shower. Tony turned and left the room, realizing only later that he was crying.

 

 

Tony woke up the next morning in his own bed wrapped in a blanket he hadn’t used in over two months. Everything smelled like faded laundry detergent and it all had a faintly stale odor to it, like it had been in a house that hadn’t seen visitors in years. He felt his lower back twinge as he rolled over and the previous night’s events came flooding back. His pillow was wet where he had been lying. He’d been crying – had cried himself to sleep for the first time since he’d been a child in boarding school. He was pretty sure that he’d kept the all-out sobbing to a minimum – or at least he’d muffled it with the pillow; he didn’t feel any less of a man for doing it. Anyone would sob if Captain America had kicked them out of his bed. Tony, however, had been sobbing because Steve Rogers had been the one to kick him out of his bed. Somehow that seemed like a bigger rejection, something worse even.

Tony had made a big mistake. He’d pushed and Steve hadn’t been ready. He hadn’t been ready and Tony had pushed anyways because he was Tony and he had thought he knew what he was doing. He’d thought that he knew Steve. He’d thought that he had known what Steve wanted.

Tony pulled the red down-filled blanket up over his head, trying to drown out the sunlight that was sneaking in through the blinds. He closed his eyes and burrowed into the pillow. He’d have to get up sometime, although he could probably draw it out for a few hours if he played his cards right. He needed to speak with Steve – to explain himself – to talk about what they’d done; he needed to wrap his head around what had happened first though.

“Jarvis?” He croaked.

“Yes sir?”

“Where’s Steve?”

“Master Rogers left the house this morning at five thirty. He was carrying a duffle bag with him and has not returned, nor has he made me aware of his return time. Would you like me to get in contact with him?” Jarvis asked.

Tony threw the blanket off his head and sat up; he regretted it instantly. His body protested and his lower back screamed bloody vengeance against him. He had to lay back and catch his breath, wincing through each laboured gasp.

“Are you alright sir? May I call someone to assist you?” Jarvis asked, worried.

“No Jarvis – don’t call anyone – “

“I have alerted Master Barton to your predicament. He is on his way.”

Tony’s face drained of colour. He tried to sit up again, struggling to yank himself up using the sheet by the headboard as leverage.

“Jarvis you bastard – “ He shouted, managing to right himself.

The bedroom door snapped open and Clint strode in rubbing his eyes. He caught sight of Tony, shirtless and propped up against the headboard with the sheets clenched in one hand and blanket draped across his legs. Clint snorted with laughter as Tony glared at him. He cocked his head to the side and walked closer to the bed.

“Go away Clint. Jarvis was just fooling around – “ Tony hissed. Clint ignored him and jumped onto the bed. The movement of the mattress sent Tony sliding down the headboard with an undignified whimper. He settled on his side, hugging his stomach, pressed up against the headboard with his pillows bracketing his side.

“Wow. So… First time huh?” Clint asked, sitting beside Tony with crossed legs. Tony glared wearily up at him, not sure how to respond. Clint rolled his shoulders, yawning as he stretched. He was wearing Thomas the Tank Engine pajamas and didn’t look at all disturbed by the way they stretched across his chest.

“Coulson got them for me as a joke.” Clint explained, looking down at the pajamas with mild amusement. He smiled at Tony after and rested his elbows on his knees, surveying the twitching in Tony’s lower back and the way his body was sprawled.

“So. I take it you had your first time with Steve and it didn’t work out the way you had planned.”

“How did you – no, never mind. I’ve seen the way you and Natasha go all hush hush buddy buddy with each other. Does she know everything in this place? Has she got it bugged or – oh god. She has access to the security cameras doesn’t she? She does!” Tony rambled, hugging one of the pillows against his middle.

“Nah, she just listens through doors with a cup like a normal person– you didn’t close Steve’s door last night by the way, so she didn’t even need to do that. Nice job.” Clint said, examining his nails. Tony stared at him with wide eyed horror.

“Oh god – I didn’t – but – “ He cried out.

Clint waved him to silence, seemingly finished with his nail gazing.

“It’s fine. Nat and I made sure everyone else’s doors were closed, so they didn’t hear jack shit. Nice moaning by the way – I take it you’ve had practice? With the moaning I mean.” Clint gestured at Tony’s position. “I don’t think you’ve had practice with the whole anal sex thing.”

“Why should I even answer – “ Tony sputtered, going red.

“First times are hard. I remember I spent the morning after mine hugging a very nice pillow while curled up on the floor. I think I may have been there all day until my roommate found me and propped me up on the couch. I had a very unpleasant conversation after that, very unpleasant.” Clint said softly. He patted his lap and gestured at Tony.

“Come, lie in Clint’s lap.”

Tony eyed Clint nervously; when it seemed like Clint wasn’t likely to hurt him, he inchwormed forwards and half crawled into Clint’s lap, his head resting on one of Clint’s muscled thighs. Clint’s hands began to stroke his hair, smoothing out his bed head. His other hand moved down to Tony’s lower back and began to poke gently. Tony hissed at him but didn’t struggle, feeling too raw and sore to move away. Clint suddenly seized him by the back of the pants and hauled him up over his lap. Tony lay, half hanging, across Clint’s knees, his head and shoulders bumping against Clint’s muscled stomach. Clint’s fingers began to knead the tightened muscles of Tony’s back, smoothing them out with a twist of his thumbs and index fingers.

Tony’s stiff back relaxed, melting under Clint’s touch.

“Better?” Clint asked, still rubbing.

“Yes.” Tony said sullenly, closing his eyes. He was a few inches shorter than Clint but didn’t often feel like it. Draped across Clint’s lap, he felt like a child being cradled in his mother’s arms.

“Heat pack might help. I can go wrangle one for you after we talk.” Clint said.

“What’s to talk about? Steve kicked me out and he’s mad at me.”

Clint slapped Tony’s back lightly, the sound echoing across the room. Tony’s back cramped up and he whimpered again, eyes watering.

“He panicked and ran off to SHIELD. He’s not mad at you – at least, Nat and I don’t think he is. I think he’s just confused, that’s all.”

“Confused? What’s there to be confused about? We were fine – we had great sex – not that you need to know that, but it all turned out fantastically. Then he just got up and went into the bathroom and closed the door on me! I went in and he asked me to leave and told me that he didn’t want to talk to me. I’m not even sure how long the whole not talking to him thing is supposed to last, because he’s gone – oh god. He’s gone to SHIELD? He’d rather be with _Fury_ in _SHIELD_ then be here with me?” Tony wailed. Clint patted him on the head again, the motion reminiscent of Tony’s earlier days as a dog.

“Now, now. He’s not going to be there forever, just until he’s worked out what he wants from the strange hanky panky you had last night. I’m sure he’s just absolutely mortified that he’s left you all covered in hickeys and bruises, so he needs to have some time to himself to reflect. Nat says that she saw him sneak into your room this morning before he left and he ran out all in a huff about something – She didn’t say though.“ Clint dug his thumb into Tony’s sore back again, eliciting a groan of agony.

“Who knows what’s going through his head. Nat offered to go keep tabs on him, so I’m here to watch out for you, and it’s all fine. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

“My head is not pretty.” Tony grumbled.

“Uh huh. You keep telling yourself that.”

Clint rolled Tony off his lap and arranged him on top of the blankets, sticking a pillow on either side of his back and front so that he had something to lean against. He slid off the bed and went to the bathroom, digging around in Tony’s things until he found what he was looking for. He returned with a heat pack and cracked it with both hands, clambering back up onto the bed. He rolled an unhappy Tony onto his stomach and slapped the heat pack onto Tony’s lower back, patting it affectionately.

“There. Once you feel a little better we’ll get you dressed and go down for breakfast.”

“Go downstairs – I can’t even stand up! “

“You can’t sit around with a sore back. You have to exercise the muscles so they don’t get all stiff – unless you _enjoy_ pain, then of course I can leave you here alone to wallow in a nice pool of self-pity so you can get a stiffer back and _really_ learn to appreciate the next few days of immobility. We can stick you in a corner somewhere and use you as a book shelf when you’ve turned stiff as a board. Would you like that?” Clint said, cheerfully. There was a malevolence in his voice that Tony was afraid of – Clint meant what he said.

Tony sighed, scowling into the pillow tucked under his chin.

“Fine. But no oatmeal.”

“I said we’re going to _eat_ breakfast Stark, not that I was going to _make_ you breakfast.” Clint snorted. He poked at Tony’s back again, this time just above the heat pack, making Tony wince once more.

“Correction – you’re going to take a shower after this and then I’m going to drag you downstairs for breakfast – I don’t want to have to touch you anymore than necessary. You smell and you’re sticky.”

“I am not!”

“Uh huh. And you’re putting on real boy clothes, no more of this wandering around with no shirt and no underwear bullshit. Your collar can come off I guess, because I’m guessing by the fact that Jarvis hasn’t had to update your little list of times that this is the final change back. Thor said something about having asked his mother about what it would look like when it was fully charged and he said that it would be solid like the strongest of colours – whatever the hell that means.”

Tony fingered the collar around his neck. He hadn’t even thought about it. He’d been wearing it when he and Steve had had sex. Looking back on it now, it was a whole lot less kinky than it had seemed at the time. He found the clasp with numb fingers and pulled it free, looking at it warily as if he expected it to flash and turn him back into a dog at any second. The crystal embedded in the collar was a deep shade of blue and was completely solid looking – there was no opacity to it now, just a strange blue glow that matched his arc reactor. He stared into it, trying to glean some kind of understanding from it, but found that as expected, there was nothing there to be learned. Clint took the collar away from him and twirled it around in between his fingers. He tapped on the glass covering the crystal, eyeballing it shiftily and then stuffed it into his pocket, removing it from sight.

“Is there a reason why you’re busy stealing it?” Tony asked casually, trying to talk Clint into possibly returning it to him without having to exert any more effort than necessary. He gave up when Clint refused to produce it again from his pocket and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the heat pack on his lower back. He hadn’t been expecting it to hurt like this after being with Steve. He’d been under the impression that Steve would be gentle – he wasn’t sure if he should be disappointed or not by the fact that Steve had just gone at it without worrying about hurting him towards the end. Thinking about it though, he remembered the way that Steve had kept frowning whenever he showed any sign of discomfort. He drummed his fingers on the blanket squashed under him, thinking more on the previous night. Steve hadn’t been unhappy, but he’d also been very… careful, not rough, but careful. He’d followed instruction and moved the way Tony had wanted him to, but the last few moments – when Steve had been inside him, leaving him full and whole feeling – Steve hadn’t moved. He’d been still, oh so still, and Tony had been doing all the work essentially. Steve had come around later, enjoying himself, Tony hoped, but he really hadn’t seen Steve’s face; he’d been facing the other way the entire time. He felt Clint’s hand on his back and the heat pack was pulled away. He whined in protest, turning to reach weakly for it; Clint’s hands began to massage his lower back again, moving in rough but smooth motions. He was begrudgingly grateful for Clint’s presence.

“I’m not giving the collar back to you because you’ll spend all of your time dwelling on the damn thing and you won’t be listening to any of my useful advice – well half of it is Nat’s advice, but I’m claiming the good stuff as my own.” Clint said cheerfully. He slapped Tony across the flat of his back again and chuckled gleefully when Tony flinched.

“Up.”

Tony rolled on his side and then rolled back onto his stomach.

“Nope. Not happening anytime soon.”

Clint raised an eyebrow.

“Up.”

Tony took in a deep breath and rolled over again. Pain slashed its way through his lower back, making him blink back tears; red splotches floated in his vision, making it hard to see. He lay still for a moment, willing the pain to go away and then tried to sit up again. The attempt was well meant, but wasn’t nearly as effective as it should have been had he been in perfect health to begin with. He ended up being braced by Clint, who’s warm hands were on his back and stomach, half hugging him into a somewhat upright position.

“My _everything_ hurts.” Tony complained, trying to steady himself with shaking hands and arms.

Clint slipped off the bed and hefted Tony upright; Tony bit back a scream as the world swam around him, his body trying to wobble its way back to the ground. Clint was now the only thing keeping him from face planting into the carpet; at this point he would have welcomed the face plant if it would have gotten the world to stop its goddamned spinning for a few seconds. His legs shook so hard that he couldn’t stay upright for more than a second at a time and he could feel the muscles in his lower back and thighs twitching in desperation – it felt disgusting, and no matter how hard he pressed his hands against the offending muscles, they remained trembling beneath his fingers. Clint slung Tony’s arm over his shoulder and slipped his other arm around Tony’s waist; they began to shuffle across the carpet towards the open bathroom door, Tony barely hanging on. Clint didn’t seem to have any problems carrying the brunt of Tony’s weight; he seemed more than comfortable with having Tony hanging off of him like a baby sloth. Tony sulked. He was impressed – not that he’d tell Clint this to his face.

Clint helped him across the bathroom and dropped the toilet lid down with his foot so that it was easier to sit on. He set Tony down on the seat, propping him up against the tank and then set about getting the shower ready; he spent a few minutes testing the heat of the spray with one hand, whistling to himself and rearranging the towels with the other. Tony tried his hardest to remain upright on the toilet; he really did, but soon found that his back just wasn’t in it for the long haul anymore. He had to lean against the wall, grasping the towel bar just to keep from sliding down and off the toilet entirely.

Clint frowned at him, pulling his hand out from the shower spray when he was finally satisfied with the temperature.

“That bad?” He asked.

Tony groaned squeezing his eyes shut as he slid further down the wall. Clint lifted him up gradually, slipping his hand under Tony’s ass, tucking Tony against his chest. Tony scowled; the pain wasn’t any less, and at least he wasn’t going to end up on the floor now.

“Well… You need a shower, and I’m guessing that you can’t stand up straight for that, can you?”

Tony shook his head, clinging to Clint as he was easily heaved closer to the shower; his cheek smooshed into Clint’s shoulder.

“Ok. We’re going to do this and you’re going to keep an open mind here and not attempt to claw out your eyes. Or my eyes for that matter.” Clint said with a sigh.

Tony frowned as Clint pulled him out of his pants. His body pitched forwards as Clint’s grip changed, his bare hips pressing snugly against the cotton of Clint’s pajamas.

“Clint… What are you – “

Clint shifted Tony to one side, leaning him up against the wall. He pulled his pajama top up and over his head and threw it onto the floor behind him; he kicked off his socks and pants, dumping them in a pile on the floor with the shirt. Tony was now slumped against the wall of his bathroom with a very naked Clint holding on to him. Clint wrapped his arms around delicately Tony’s waist as Tony protested weakly and muscled them both into the shower.

Water hit Tony in the face; it was such a shock that he almost forgot that he was being held up by Clint. He blinked and sputtered, spitting out water as it splashed down his nose and dripped off of his chin. The steam made it hard to concentrate. He tried to ignore the fact that Clint’s naked body was pressed up against his and focused on the fact that the water was warm and pleasant; he could feel his muscles relaxing just as they had when he’d been using the heat pack.

“So uh… I’m only standing here until your back warms up and you can stand again– then I’m going to sit on the counter and wait for you to finish. No funny business – I promise.” Clint grinned, spinning Tony around so that the water was now running down his shoulders and onto his back. He flushed as he felt his body squish into Clint’s bare chest and then rested his head on Clint’s shoulder; Tony’s shoulders bumping just below the top of Clint’s.

“Natasha is going to kill you if she finds out you did this.” Tony commented dryly, closing his eyes to keep out the stray water droplets. Clint shrugged, shifting the both a little so that Tony was directly underneath the spray; the heat was intense and the water pressure was like a thousand miniature hands rubbing at his screaming muscles.

“We’re friends – she’d do this too if she had to, although she’d probably kick you in the nuts first so that you couldn’t do anything unseemly. It’s Coulson who’s going to really kill me, but that’s beside the point, I have absolutely no intention of hitting on you – you’re Steve’s.” Clint said primly. Tony laughed against him, shoulders shaking. Steve being his was ludicrous. He felt like crying, and really, what was a _better_ place to cry then the shower where tears could be easily mistaken for water, so he did. He could feel Clint squeeze him a little in the most slight of hugs and buried his nose in Clint’s damp neck, sniffling.

“I won’t say anything if you won’t.” Clint said softly.

“Stupid Steve and his stupid forties brain.” Tony spluttered, feeling not at all thirty five years old; all the emotions he had felt the night before came rushing back.

Clint patted him on the head gently, slopping water down Tony’s back; Tony’s hair plastered pitifully against the top of his head.

“He just needs to loosen his girdle. He’ll get over it.”

Tony couldn’t help but laugh through his tears at that.

 

Once Tony was able to stand up by himself Clint vacated the shower and dried himself off with one of Tony’s plush maroon towels, pulling his pajamas back on. He took up a position on the counter and began to read the labels on Tony’s expensive body butter and hand lotions, ignoring Tony completely. Tony washed himself with soapy hands, having to move so slowly that he feared that the hot water would eat the entire bar of soap by the time he finally got himself cleaned up. He had to stop and have another cry after that thought. He leaned against the wall, pressing his face against his forearm while the water ran down his back, washing off the soap and shampoo trailing its way down his hips.

Clint didn’t ask him why it took so long; he sat and read, (probably reread half the bottles in the amount of time it took) while he waited. When Tony was finished, he helped him out of the shower and went back to reading a particularly engrossing face wash bottle while Tony laboriously dried himself off, wrapping the towel around his waist. He limped into the bedroom with Clint following behind him at a safe distance, attempting to give some kind of privacy to him; although to Tony there wasn’t much of a point to it seeing as how they’d seen each other naked.

He stooped to grab at the top dresser’s drawer handle and let out an audible gasp as pain ripped through his lower back again. Clint was at his side in an instant, helping him backwards to the bed so that he could sit down; Tony focused on breathing slowly in and out, trying to push the pain away. Clint gathered some clothing for him while Tony calmed himself, wheezing as the pain lessened. He pulled on the clothing Clint had picked out with a lot of help from Clint, who had to physically pull both of his legs into a pair of boxers and sweat pants when Tony realized that his lower half didn’t want to cooperate with him anymore. Clint pulled Tony’s socks onto his feet and then helped him put on a loose red and gold Iron Man t-shirt before heaving him up and dragging him out the room.

The trip down the hall went a lot faster than Tony had expected it would; he had expected Clint to force him to at least attempt to walk. Clint surprised him by carrying him all the way; Tony’s feet were a good two inches off the ground as Clint’s arm dug into his hip, holding him up. They made their way to the kitchen, slinking through the living room where, thankfully, no one was watching television. They sat down in the soft kitchen chairs – well, Clint sat him down. Tony had to be wedged into his chair with a pillow stolen from the living room couch so that he wouldn’t fall off. He sulked in silence until Clint put a bowl of cereal in front of him and a cup of coffee; both were just the way he liked them. He eyed Clint suspiciously until the archer rolled his eyes and went back to preparing his own breakfast, wondering when Clint had picked up on his preferences.

“You have the same thing every day Stark. You think it’s that hard to remember?” Clint laughed.

“Stalker.” Tony grumbled.

They ate together in silence, Tony sipping at the sweet milk left behind when he finished his cereal, neither really sure what to say. Tony hadn’t been drinking coffee recently. He’d stopped entirely when he was a dog, and since the transformations had started he’d been avoiding caffeine entirely, not wanting to see what would happen if he became a caffeine high dog – he suspected that he’d probably run into something or have a seizure. Seeing as how he seemed to be back to normal now, he’d never know for certain. It was strange to drink coffee again, strange, but not wholly unpleasant. He could feel himself waking up slowly, his brain fog clearing with each sip.

Clint kept an eye on him the whole time Tony ate. He finished devouring five pieces of grape jam slathered toast and three bananas in the time it took for Tony to finish the milk from his cereal and the cup of now lukewarm coffee. Clint wandered off to get dressed after he finished eating and left Tony unattended. Those minutes were the longest minutes Tony had spent alone in a month. He found himself edgily looking around the kitchen, searching hopefully for Steve as if he might pop out from one of the cupboards; it hurt more then he thought it would when he remembered that Steve wasn’t around anymore and that he was gone. He stared into his empty coffee cup, feeling as if he were a teenager again, pining after Steve. He hadn’t thought he felt this strongly about Steve – It had been lust, the last time he’d checked with himself he’d found love too; how it had gotten from lust to _feelings_ he didn’t know. All he _did_ know was that he wanted Steve back – he’d apologize and beg if he had to. He’d crawl over broken glass if Steve wanted him to. He just wanted Steve back in the house.

Clint came back to a determined Tony; a Tony who was trying to compose an email through Jarvis that would get Steve to come back home. Clint placed Tony’s phone down on the table in front of him and then sat back, stretching out in the chair opposite Tony like a cat, a book clutched in his hand.

“He’s not going to be checking email – you’d better just text him. It’s faster, and at least you’ll know he got it. Nat’s with him so she’ll be able to teach him how to read it if he gets lost.” Clint said, flipping open the book to the title page, licking his finger as he skipped to the next page. He read leisurely while Tony struggled to compose a decent text message.

The first text message Tony sent took him sixty seven minutes to compose. It was merely a ‘Steve, are you alright?’ message. He’d tried phrasing it seventy eight different ways, and nothing had seemed right, it had all felt wrong. He put the phone down on the table after checking the battery power and then proceeded to stare blankly at it for the next half hour. Clint’s phone buzzed after the half hour mark hit; he begrudgingly put his book down and pulled his phone out of his pocket and read his new message, lips pursed. Tony looked at him, shamelessly eager, and Clint sighed and read out the message he had just received.

“Nat says that Steve is thinking about what to say. He seems confused and keeps asking her why you would be asking him if he’s alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I? He left with a duffle bag for god’s sake – “ Tony snapped, glaring at the cellphone on the table that remained defiantly silent and textless.

“I have no idea. Just wait for his response – don’t go all crazy sending him text messages with Nat’s information or you’ll lose your inside source.”

Tony begrudgingly knew that Clint was right. He stared sullenly at the phone, willing it to give him Steve’s response.

By the time lunch rolled around Tony was biting his nails in between sips of coffee and bites of ordered in pizza. His fingers were stained with pizza grease and ink from the pen he’d been using to scrawl various responses on scrap piece of paper, afraid to intrust the information to Jarvis, who seemed to be in the habit of assisting when he didn’t want to be assisted lately. He had witty responses, snappy come backs, angry retorts, you name it, he’d written it down; what he didn’t have was an actual message to respond to. His phone had remained silent, mocking him. He debated on texting Pepper or Rhodey to ask their opinion and then decided against it – he didn’t want them to know yet another of his fuck ups, and it wouldn’t be fair to tell them about what had happened with Steve if Steve didn’t want anyone to know about it; not that Steve had specifically told him not to speak about it with anyone. He knew that both Rhodey and Pepper would be fine – they kept secrets much more deadly than things like the names of Tony’s bedfellows. Somehow it felt like a betrayal of Steve to talk about it with people outside the mansion – it’d be like bragging to other people, and he knew that Steve would see it that way. Then things would get so much worse and he’d lose his chance at fixing it.

“Still nothing from Steve?” Bruce asked as he made his way through the kitchen to snag a few slices of room temperature pizza. Tony wasn’t surprised that Bruce knew something was going on. Closed doors or not, it was a small house, and Steve leaving couldn’t really be mistaken for anything else seeing as how well they had been getting on the night previous. Tony got up for his twenty minute required pacing (Clint’s orders – he wasn’t allowed to sit for more than an hour without having to walk around so that his back didn’t tense up) and then found himself continuing the pace past his normal stopping point all through the house, leaving the phone behind. He walked past Steve’s bedroom and then walked back to it and stared through the closed door, hand raised to grab the door knob, wanting to go inside to see just what Steve had taken with him.

He faltered; his fingers not willing to twist the knob when he dropped his hand to cover the handle and he pulled his hand back as if it had burned his skin. It wouldn’t be right to snoop in Steve’s things. Not that it had stopped him before, but _now_ somehow it felt wrong. He stared at the door, wishing that it would take pity on him and open all on its own. When it didn’t, he reluctantly walked away and paced back through the living room and into the kitchen. He took up his abandoned place at the table across from Clint and saw that Clint had moved on from his book and was now playing with the cutlery, making a pyramid of forks and spoons that towered up above the table; each piece precariously balanced. Tony didn’t bother looking at his phone. There wouldn’t be anything there. He could just feel it in his gut. Clint placed a new spoon in the tower’s left half and looked up at Tony with a raised eyebrow.

“Your phone buzzed.”

Tony grabbed for the phone so hard and fast that the table wobbled beneath his hands; the tower of cutlery swayed but remained upright. Clint gave him a dirty look before going back to his work, fitting a new spoon in between a network of forks shaped like a feather duster.

The text wasn’t from Steve, it was from Pepper. It read: ‘Are you alright? Natasha said that you are back to normal, and that you’re sulking. Something happened between you and Steve?’

He sighed, shoulders slumping.

“Not Steve?” Clint asked, eyes still on the forks. Bruce snatched a fork from of the side tower and it swayed precariously, but didn’t fall. Clint sent him an even dirtier look.

“It’s from Pepper. How much did Natasha tell her exactly about all this?” Tony asked.

“I’ll ask.”

Clint pulled out his phone and sent off a reply, fingers flying on the tiny keyboard. The response was almost instantaneous.

“Nat says that she told Pepper that you two had had a disagreement – nothing about the whole – thing.” Clint said quickly, noting the look of displeasure on Tony’s face. Bruce looked confusedly from Tony to Clint.

“I thought Steve went off on a special SHIELD training mission. Natasha said he was working on integration or was it interpersonal skills… He was supposed to be working on using the phone and learning how to text – am I missing something here?” Bruce asked, perplexed.

“Yes – that’s exactly what he’s doing. Nothing to worry about.” Tony grumbled, eyes still on the phone as he responded to Pepper with a: ‘Yes, all fine here. Steve’s just at SHIELD doing a training thing.’ Pepper texted him back thirty seconds later with an: ‘oh, ok. I’ll see you tomorrow morning for the board meeting.’

‘What board meeting?’ he texted back, confused.

‘The one you have to attend to get your power as CEO back.’ Pepper replied.

Tony groaned and banged his head on the kitchen table. Clint’s tower wobbled dangerously yet again.

“Hey! Watch it Stark!” Clint growled, glaring at him.

“I have to go to a board meeting tomorrow…” Tony grumbled, forehead pressed against the table, phone buzzing away with received messages by his ear.

“Ouch. You sure you’re going to be able to survive that? You might not be able to stand…” Clint said. Bruce sent him another confused but concerned look.

“What happened to him?” Bruce asked, cutting up the piece of pizza that was too covered in cheese to bite cleanly through.

“He threw out his back.” Clint supplied, disassembling his tower one piece at a time as Tony poignantly ignored his phone.

“Pepper’s going to be pissed if you don’t respond.” Clint said, gesturing to the phone.

“Good, maybe she’ll come over here and kill me so I won’t have to go to the meeting. God… It’s probably going to be at six am too.” Tony mumbled into the tabletop. When he finally raised his head he saw that he had six text messages. The first five were from Pepper, who had obviously guessed Tony’s displeasure at the idea of attending a board meeting at six in the morning and had given him a barraged tirade of messages in order to get him to show up. The messages read: ‘Be prepared to sit in a chair for three hours. You’ll be expected to show up at seven thirty – I talked them down from a six thirty meeting because I told them that you were still recovering from a hellish flu. You can play on your phone while they talk – just remember to sign the papers when I give them to you at the end. Are you listening to me Tony? Tony!’

The last message, blinking at the bottom of the list of messages, was from Steve. He scrolled down to it and clicked, opening it up. Tony stared at the message, mouth drying out as if he had just taken a mouthful of dust and fuzz from the dryer vent. He choked on the response, dropping the phone onto the tabletop with a clatter. The phone skittered away as it began to vibrate again, signaling another text message. The phone made its way across the table to Clint, who picked it up and scrolled through after seeing the look on Tony’s face.

“Ouch. That’s a bad one. Did you read the second one?” Clint asked, knowing damn well that Tony hadn’t.

“I highly doubt it’s going to make the first one any better.” Tony whispered, dropping his head back onto the table, face draining of blood.

“He says that he’d prefer to continue the discussion in person.” Clint read out, mindful of Bruce’s ears. Bruce didn’t seem to care; he was content eating his pizza, smearing sauce on his sleeve. Clint handed him a napkin and slipped the phone back across the table to Tony. It bounced off of Tony’s head and slid to a stop in the middle of the table.

‘It wasn’t right. What we did was wrong.’ Tony saw the words over and over again in his head, mind reeling through the images of the previous night. What kind of a message was that to send to someone? All Tony had asked was if he was alright! He swallowed hard, choking on his own tongue. A glass of water materialized in front of him and he lifted his head weakly and took a sip, swirling the water around in his mouth to clear away the imaginary dust.

“Thanks.” He said. Bruce gave him a thumbs up and stalked out of the room, snagging another piece of cold pizza from the box as he went. Clint watched Bruce leave, waiting until he was sure that Bruce was out of earshot and not likely to return before speaking.

“He’s still freaking out. Don’t let it get to you.” Clint said softly. His phone buzzed again and he scrolled through, sighing.

“Nat says that you should tell him that you trust him and respect his decisions, but that you don’t agree with this one - about it being wrong.”

“She’s good with words. Can I use those?” Tony commented, holding the phone out in front of him with his head barely raised, fingers poised to type.

“She’s always been good with words. Maybe, “ Clint said, seeing Tony’s struggling, “ You should just tell him that you don’t think what you did was wrong and start from there?” He suggested.

“Ok. Why not.”

Tony typed slowly, trying to make the text as error free as possible, suddenly afraid of being auto corrected into some kind of absolutely ghastly response.

‘What we did wasn’t wrong. I don’t believe that at all.’ Appeared on the screen. He looked up at Clint and then passed the phone shakily over to him, not wanting to hit send. Clint rolled his eyes, read over the text and then pressed send for him. He set the phone down in the middle of the table and joined Tony in staring at it, waiting for the response.

This time, it only took Steve five minutes to respond. The message was much shorter and unfulfilling. It read simply ‘It was wrong.’

Clint scowled at it.

“You know, I’m tempted to just phone him and yell in his ear until he gets over himself.” Clint grumbled. His phone buzzed again. He scowled when he read the message on it and put it back in his pocket.

“Nat says I can’t do that. That woman is psychic or something.”

Tony spun his phone around with one finger, watching the message spin around and around in brilliant white and black LED. What could he respond with that would change Steve’s mind? He’d told Steve that he trusted him so many times already and apparently that meant nothing to Steve – or was that the problem maybe? Steve felt that he’d done something that had broken his trust?

He typed slowly again, taking time to carve out his words.

‘Steve – I like you. You didn’t do anything wrong – We didn’t do anything wrong.’ He wrote. Again, he handed the phone to Clint, who read the message and pressed send for Tony, handing the phone back.

 

 

Steve’s response didn’t come that night and there was nothing by the time he woke up the next morning. Tony got dressed at daybreak with Clint’s help again and ate a modest breakfast of coffee and more coffee before being shooed out the door by Happy. He was whisked off to Stark Tower for the board meeting in a low riding car. The ride there was a nightmare; his back almost gave out on him when he had to step out from the door to reach the curb; he debated on asking Happy to just carry him the rest of the way. He didn’t do it though, knowing that it would probably look more than a little foolish to be carried into a board meeting, even if he _was_ Tony Stark. He had to show that he wasn’t an invalid; that he was strong and capable of dealing with company matters despite any disadvantages thrown his way. He was used to this kind of board room, with its love for rumor and gossip. The other members of the board would start whispering amongst themselves if they saw any sign of weakness; they were like sharks in chum filled waters, just waiting for a good time to strike at the bait.

He sat gingerly on the edge of the puffy chair Pepper motioned him to and then sank completely into it while he waited for the meeting to begin. A few of the board members came up and gave him the customary handshakes which he begrudgingly rose for; once they finished waddling in to the board room, he settled into his chair permanently. One of Pepper’s personal assistants brought him coffee that was too black and too sweet – perfect in other words. He thanked the woman, gave her a flirty wink and then busied himself with catching up on the business reports Pepper had _graciously_ left in a manila folder for him. The folder wasn’t _too_ thick and only held about a hundred pages, probably condensed for his reading pleasure, so he soldiered through it while taking delicate little sips of coffee, savouring the flavor of the brew. They’d picked up some new kind of coffee apparently. He made a mental note to ask Pepper what it was so that he could order some; it reminded him of Easter mornings, half nutty and chocolaty like the eggs Jarvis used to hide for him. They reminded him of those little hazelnut chocolates he’d brought back from Paris on his last trip outside the country. Steve would have liked those chocolates. He frowned as the Steve thought slipped in between his others, burrowing into his business reports ideas and research and development paper comments. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and took another sip of coffee, distracting himself by listening to the board blather on about how they thought the secretaries were overpaid and how they wanted to get the newest version of the Stark Phone into production some time before Christmas. He locked eyes with Pepper briefly as she made her rounds, telling some of the board members off for their flippant comments (she’d practically stomped on some of their feet at the overpaid secretaries comment) and tried to reassure himself that things would be getting better.

He was getting his life back – he had control again. He could deal with this. He was an Avenger – he was Iron Man. He was Tony Stark. Somehow being Tony Stark didn’t seem all that important anymore. He checked his phone for the seventeenth time that hour and saw that, as expected, there was nothing from Steve.

 

He listened patiently to the Board for three hours, munching on the Danish the P.A had smuggled in for him and sipping the overly sweet coffee that kept being refilled by the same P.A; he watched the way the board looked at him with a certain sense of satisfaction. He could see the fear in them again – he’d always prided himself in being able to put the fear in them and it paid off when they never really knew just how annoyed he was with their bullshit. Sure, he blew up and told them to go to hell if they did something overtly bad, but they could just as easily be tormented with delayed projects or cancelled release dates, which was so much more satisfying and involved _slightly_ less yelling. He never let them lay anyone off in retaliation either, so every time they tried to strike back at him for his project delays (all of them having been _necessary_ and _required_ if they had wanted to keep things from exploding or melting in their customer’s pockets) by firing some of the lower level workers, he would just dip into his own pockets and pay out the salaries to keep them all on. He knew Pepper approved of this; he knew his father wouldn’t have, but screw his father – on second thought, no. No thinking about someone screwing his father – that just made things worse, and he didn’t really need the mental imagery that came with that.

He sighed, loudly. The board fell silent around him, all eyes locked on Tony and his half eaten Danish held aloft in his hand like some kind of royal scepter.

“Are we done here? Seems to me like we’re done. Everything was handled impeccably by the wonderful Pepper Potts, and I don’t see any real problems lurking from what I’ve read.” He said, gesturing with the Danish, trying to keep the strain of the day out of his voice. The board members looked at one another and then back at him, putting on a unified face of pleasure. It always creeped him out when they did that – like they were some kind of hive mind just waiting to devour one another for thoughts going against the collective’s.

Pepper slipped the papers she had promised in front of him and he skimmed them quickly, signing his name at the bottom where she had left a happy little red smiley face tag with an x beside it. She’d drawn up the papers herself. He trusted her to have all the legalese tied up correctly. If she’d wanted the company she’d have taken it from him years ago after the _first_ time he’d put her in charge.

She smiled softly at him and squeezed his shoulder when she whisked the papers away, leaving him to sit alone with the board as they filed out, shaking hands with each one as they made their way out of the room looking smugly satisfied with their day. He sagged in the chair for a few minutes when they were out of sight and then carefully heaved himself slowly upright, bracing himself against the polished wooden table, stretching his sore muscles.

“Hard day at the office?” Pepper said, stalking back into the room. She put an arm around his lower back and led him carefully towards her office, keeping her pace slow and smooth with a gentle canter despite her high heels.

“You could say that.” Tony said, wincing when he tripped on the barely raised carpet in front of her door. She raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment about it until she’d forced him to sit in the chair across from hers and closed the door to keep prying eyes and ears away.

“Did you have some kind of…” She paused, trying to find the words. “Sexual escapade that I should be doing damage control for? Or is this really just some kind of injury from the Avengers that you didn’t tell me or Fury about, because Natasha wasn’t all that clear on what was wrong and I thought that was funny because she doesn’t normally keep anything from me.”

Tony shrugged, not feeling like giving her information; he found himself telling her everything a few seconds later, blurting it all out before she could even sit down properly in her chair.

She stared at him, eyes wide and shocked, hands still resting by her sides slack and relaxed; if she’d been holding something it would have been on the floor now.

“YOU WHAT?!” She shouted, wincing when Tony flinched and huddled lower in his chair. She let out a long breath, clasping her hands in front of her face, eyes half closed while she centred herself.

“So what happens now?” She asked finally, lowering herself into her chair.

“You tell me. You’ve as much luck guessing what’s going to happen as I do at this point. Steve hasn’t responded to my last text and I’m pretty sure that I’ve traumatized him for life somehow.” Tony grumbled, not looking at her.

“Oh Tony…” Pepper said, shaking her head.

“Pep, tell me – am I … is it wrong to sleep with me? I mean – you already did, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want to kill me for it, but I mean, seriously – is this something I should have been worried about years ago? Because if it is I wish someone had given me that memo so I could have saved myself some of this – “ he flapped his hands around the room vaguely, “ whatever this is – confession? Mental trauma? Suicidal lust?”

“It’s not wrong to sleep with you Tony; it’s incredibly stupid, no matter who you are, but it’s not wrong.” Pepper said softly.

“Gee thanks – you should put that on a card or something. Tony Stark – not wrong to sleep with, but you’d have to be stupid to do it.” Tony snapped, tensing in the chair. His back began to throb again; it was familiar now, a dull slow burning ache, and he didn’t like it at all. The Advil Clint had force fed him before he’d left the house was no longer cutting it.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way – I mean, it’s just that you’re not the best at making decisions about sex and what happens afterwards. Did you even let him know that you liked him before you jumped him? That might have been a better way to go about it you know.” Pepper said dryly, digging out a peppermint candy from a bowl on the corner of her desk. She offered one to Tony and he took it from her, unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth. It tasted cool and fresh; he had forgotten that she always kept candies on her desk.

“Tony?”

Tony stared at her, blinking.

“I…”

“You didn’t, did you?” Pepper said, horrified. “Oh god Tony – you didn’t even tell him that you liked him and you just… mounted him like some horny – “

“Hey – HE did the mounting – I was just – “ Tony protested, flushing.

Pepper stared at him aghast.

“You didn’t tell him that you liked him in a more than friends way, did you.” It was a statement this time and not a question. Tony knew that he was screwed.

“Not really outright… no.”

Pepper pressed her palms into her eyes, letting out a strangely strangled cry.

“Oh Tony… you didn’t!”

Tony looked down at his feet, ashamed. She was right. He should have talked to Steve first before he’d thought out his plan – before he’d acted on it probably. He’d missed the first part of any real relationship, the part that was the most important of all. He’d jumped so fast and hard into bed that he’d completely forgotten about the whole dating aspect– he’d neglected to give Steve that kind of a chance to get to know his intentions.

“Tony…” Pepper said, snapping her fingers at him. He looked up. His eyes must have showed some of his dismay because her expression softened and she stood up, circling the table to sit on the edge of the desk in front of him, holding his hands in between her own. She rubbed her fingers against his knuckles.

“Tony. It’s fine – it’s fixable, just like most of the crazy things you do. You need to give him time to think things over. He’s probably handling it with all the grace he can muster, but really, did you think that he’d be the kind of person to just jump into bed without _strings_?”

“I didn’t think about it that way. I… I just saw that he wanted me and I went for it…” He mumbled.

“You found this out _how_ exactly?”

“I don’t think you want to hear that story – although it’s been a rather vivid piece of my wet dreams lately – “

“Tony!”

“Sorry.”

Pepper squeezed his hand gently. He was glad for the smile on her face. She always looked better when she was smiling, and she didn’t smile nearly enough for his liking. She’d always been smiling during those first few months they’d been together… and then she’d stopped and it had been awful.

“Look. Maybe you should try explaining all of this to him? Tell him that you want a real relationship with him and that you’d like another shot at starting it out properly this time. Take him to dinner – to the movies – to a soda shop or something for god’s sake, but get the dialogue going. It’s not going to help if you leave him to fester in his own head. He’s probably having a panic attack in his sad little room in SHIELD because he doesn’t know what the hell happened between you two.”

Tony nodded feebly. Pepper always had such good advice. He should have talked to her about it in the first place. Maybe he could have headed off the disaster in the first place.

“Did you talk to Rhodey about this? What did he say?” Pepper asked suddenly, brow furrowing.

“I uh… didn’t talk to anyone about it. Only you and Clint know – and Natasha of course – she knows everything.” Tony sighed. Pepper dropped his hands and smacked him in the forehead with her palm, shaking her head.

“You idiot. God, he’s going to burst that vein in his forehead when he finds out about this – “

“You can’t!” Tony blurted, grabbing Pepper’s hand in a grasp that must have been much too hard, because she grimaced.

“Please Pep – don’t tell him. He’ll kill me and he’ll… I don’t want Steve to – “

Pepper pried her hand out from Tony’s and took him by the wrists, pulling his chair closer as it wheeled towards the desk.

“Tony. Rhodey’s not going to kill you. He loves and trusts you just like I do. He’d probably take his rage out on Steve, not you, but if you’re that concerned about Rhodey knowing I won’t mention it. Just… Think about talking to him too, alright? You don’t have to be alone in this.” She said softly, smiling again with the weary smile she used when she was trying to talk him off the ledge of insanity.

“Alright… I’ll think about it.” Tony promised.

“Good. Happy’s waiting downstairs for you. He’s planning to take you out for a congratulatory burger so he can clog up all your arteries. Promise me you’ll keep the bacon and cheese to a minimum, alright? I don’t want to have to take over again if you die from a stroke.” Pepper said, sighing as she dropped Tony’s hands and made her way back to her desk and chair.

“I promise nothing.” Tony said, a fleeting grin spreading across his face. She smiled at him again, rolling her eyes and went back to work.

 

 

Tony enjoyed the burger so much more than he had when he had eaten them as a human. He’d been eating leftovers all the time when Steve was feeling wiling and Clint always slipped him things when no one was looking. Being a dog had been harder on his stomach and taste buds than he would have liked to admit. He still remembered the dry taste of the kibbles and gagged when he thought about it. Happy passed him his soda and Tony took a thankful swig, passing it back. They were sitting at a picnic table in the park, having taken their food out into the open so that Tony could get some fresh air. Happy had insisted on it – he’d almost dragged Tony out from the car so that they could have this moment together, and Tony felt a little guilty for not having felt up to it initially.

He hadn’t seen Happy in a long time, not since the last time they’d come back from SHIELD, and clearly Happy had been worried about Tony’s wellbeing. He tried to make small talk to make up for all the missed chats, mentioning the strange upgrades he’d been doing on the Avengers’ weapons. He tried to talk Happy into letting him drive one of his favourite cars from his collection for the week, but Happy hadn’t seemed interested. He’d just smiled at Tony and gone back to eating his burger, content to just sit and listen to his boss ramble away like an excited fourth grader. Tony only checked his phone three times during their lunch. He let Happy take him out for gelato afterwards and made obscenely blissful noises when eating it despite not being all that hungry as they drove back home. Happy had snorted with laughter when he noticed that Tony had some of it smeared in his beard and had handed Tony a napkin, smirking. Tony had grinned back at him, feeling a little more like himself and a lot less like someone’s invalid grandfather.

He limped his way up the driveway and collapsed onto the paisley couch beside a dozing Clint, who growled at him for waking him up and then went back to sleep with the television blaring. The television was turned to some home and garden channel program. A crazy man was demolishing a house with a sledge hammer on the television at max volume. Tony stripped off his suit jacket and tossed it on the arm of the couch, pulling his phone out to do another obligatory Steve check.

There was a message.

He scrolled to it nervously, a bead of sweat dripping down the back of his neck, disappearing under his starched collar. He loosened his tie.

‘Please leave me alone.’

Tony gaped at the message, unable to contain his shock. He grabbed Clint by the arm, so frustrated by Steve that he couldn’t contain his frustration; the archer bobbled in his grasp, blinking at him sleepily.

“Whazza…”

“Look! Look at what it took him nineteen hours to write!” Tony crowed, furious with Steve.

Clint took the phone from his hand, having to pry it free because Tony was already trying to throw it across the room, and looked at it with a bland expression on his face.

“You’re surprised by this? Wasn’t this kind of what he already told you?” Clint asked. He kept the phone away as Tony reached out to snatch at it back from him and shook a finger in Tony’s face, making him to temporarily cross eyed.

“I’m not giving this back to you – you’re going to write something hurtful!” Clint growled. Tony continued to make grabby hands at the phone; he wilted finally after Clint stood up and walked away from the couch, watching him from the other side.

“But – I talked to Pepper and – “ Tony started.

Clint waved him into silence.

“Are you still mad at him?”

Tony looked down at his lap, pouting, and hunched his shoulders.

“No.”

“Liar.”

Tony looked up, eyes flashing and made an ill-advised dive for the phone. All he ended up doing was wrenching his back out further and curling up in a ball on the cushion, gasping in pain. Clint looked down at him from above, sighing to himself.

“You’re pretty stupid for a smart guy, you know that?”

“I hear that a lot.” Tony gasped, wincing as his back muscles gave a violent twinge before trembling uncontrollably.

“I’m not surprised.” Clint said, scrolling casually through the line of texts between Tony and Steve. He paused, re-reading them and then sat down on the arm of the couch, casually draping himself across it with the phone held just out of Tony’s reach.

“And just what did you intend on saying to him then? Something romantic this time, or are you planning to threaten him somehow?” Clint gestured at Tony. “Love me or die? Something nice and thoughtful like that?”

Tony scowled up at him and then looked away gaze dropping into the couch cushions.

“I wasn’t going to say something like that.”

“Then what were you going to say?” Clint asked, not taking his eyes off the phone.

“I was going to tell him that I wanted to start over- I know that this is probably because of the fact that I didn’t actually tell him that I liked him before we slept together and I want to start over – I want to ask him out and take him someplace nice.” Tony grumbled.

He looked up when he heard the sound of a text message being sent and stared at Clint with open horror.

“You _didn’t_.”

“Well you weren’t going to write it properly so I took the liberty of refining your babbling.” Clint shrugged. He tossed the phone to Tony so that he could read it. Tony caught it with shaking hands.

‘I want to start over and do this right. I like you and I want to have a relationship – can we meet up and talk in person?’

He had to admit that Clint had done a good job. He cursed the archer for having a better way with words than he did and lay the phone on the cushion in front of his face, staring at it with the hope that it would buzz and tell him that Steve had forgiven him for being an idiot. The phone remained silent. He glared at it harder.

“You do realize that staring at it isn’t going to make him think or type any faster, right?” Clint laughed. He snatched the phone up and slid into its place, sitting beside Tony’s sprawled body. Tony groaned as the cushion moved from the addition of Clint’s weight. Clint slapped him across the back and he shrieked, biting his lip.

“Oh grow up. You brought that one on yourself. You’re lucky I’m not going to take the phone away and put it up somewhere high so you can’t reach it.” Clint chided. He set the phone on the small of Tony’s back and went back to watching the television, changing the channel to the news.

 

 

The next day was better for Tony’s back. He found that he could get up from bed without Clint physically wrestling him out from under his blanket, and he only almost blacked out _once_ while putting on his socks. He retreated to the workshop after sucking back three cups of coffee and eating half of a bagel he stole out of Clint’s hands. He locked himself in the workshop, devoting his attention to the Iron Man, feeling that he’d been neglecting it. The suit was his second home after all; it deserved some love too. He hunched over the workbench, fixing the wiring in one of the improved gauntlets and when his muscles began to hurt had Dummy come over and rub his back for him. Dummy hadn’t exactly been built to rub backs, so it was a little awkward and more than a little painful, but once the robot had finished he found that he had more mobility, so he called it a win and told Jarvis to make a note to give Dummy a new fire extinguisher – one of Dummy’s favourite toys as of late. He’d used up two already putting out the fires Tony had made when he was still trapped as a dog. He also made Jarvis take a note about back rubbing robots and then told him to strike that one out – it would probably just turn into something creepy with his luck.

When he looked at the clock later he realized that he’d been sequestered in his workshop for a whole ten hours without any interruptions. He stretched, back hurting and stalked to the fridge to see if there was anything edible in there. There wasn’t, unless he wanted to eat the crumbs and mold living in the crisper, so he decided to stop working for the moment and headed back upstairs. He dropped painfully into his seat in the kitchen with a piece of day old pizza half hanging out of his mouth as he wiped his greasy hands on a paper napkin.

His phone dropped into his lap from above. He looked up at Clint, confused and then remembered with a start that he’d been waiting for Steve to respond. He swallowed the bite of pizza in his mouth and picked up the phone, smearing sauce across the screen in his haste to look at it. He cursed and wiped the phone on his shirt, not caring about ruining the grease stained wife beater and then stared at the phone reading three new texts.

He clicked through and saw that all of them were from Steve. The first of them was time stamped six hours previous. He glared at Clint, who reached out and took the pizza from his mouth and put it on the table so he wouldn’t choke while trying to yell.

“You locked yourself up and told Jarvis to not let anyone in. You didn’t say anything about telling you if Steve texted.” Clint grinned.

Steve’s messages were short as always. He’d probably never learned how to type, and so it had likely taken him a long time to get it all out one letter at a time.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

The next message read: ‘Tony? Did you get that last message?’

The final message read: ‘Tony. Are you alright?’

The last message had been time stamped at fifteen minutes previous. Tony read the three messages over and over again, cycling through them as he would lines of code in a particularly stubborn program.

Steve didn’t want to have a relationship. Steve didn’t want to have a relationship but he was still asking if Tony was alright.

 _Steve didn’t want to have a relationship_.

He set the phone down carefully on the table and went back to eating his piece of pizza, concentrating on chewing instead of thinking. He felt numb inside, as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water down his throat. He shuddered at the thought of that and swallowed hard, standing up to go get another piece of pizza from the fridge while his eyes watered. He chewed this one carefully as well, ignoring the strange look Clint was giving him. Clint picked the phone up off the table and read through the messages. His expression went from blank to annoyance and then back to an almost neutral expression of displeasure.

“He’s an idiot.”

Tony shrugged, finishing the slice of pizza. He opened the fridge and pulled out a can of root beer – he cringed; Steve’s favourite – He cracked it open and took a sip from it, letting the sweet flavor wash away the tomato zing on his tongue and lips; he wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“Some would say that he’s the smartest person they know. He’s probably right – I’m not a very good choice.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed.

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s fine. He doesn’t want me. I’m used to not being wanted. I’ll live. I’ll be in the workshop if you need anything.” Tony said. He walked off without another word, leaving the phone lying on the table where he had left it and the can of root beer on the counter beside the sink.

 

 

Tony stared at the pile of destroyed armor lying on the ground in front of him. He’d systematically dismantled the Iron Dog one piece at a time, ripping the metal apart with his bare hands. His fingers and hands were bleeding; he didn’t really care. It wasn’t as if he had to worry about anyone worrying about a few new scars on his calloused hands and he could barely feel the sting of pain from them anymore. No one had bothered to come down to the workshop to check up on him except for Clint, who visited only rarely. It didn’t surprise him, but somewhere in his chest hurt because no one had come – Steve had used to come –

He shoved that thought away and kicked at the Iron Dog remnants, wincing when a piece of metal lodged itself in his big toe. He cursed, hopping on one foot as he pulled the ragged chunk out and threw it across the room with a scream of rage. Dummy hooted unhappily beside him. The robot was holding the first aid kit and gesturing wildly with it, bumping against Tony’s shin to get his attention. Tony looked down at the blood dripping from his toe and let out a long suffering sigh, wanting to tear out his hair. He wanted to cry but it felt like he’d used up all of his tears; it was like retching with nothing to throw up. He’d known that Steve didn’t want him – somewhere inside, he’d known. He’d been dreading the knowledge, and he’d known it was coming regardless yet it had still come as a shock to see it written out in plain text.

 _Steve didn’t want a relationship_. Simple and concise– it was just like Steve, who solved every problem with a dash of severe politeness. It was probably the nicest almost-relationship ender that Tony had ever gotten as an adult. At least he hadn’t had a brick thrown at him or a drink splashed in his face, although at this point he’d have preferred it if Steve had picked either of those options. At least then he’d have known that Steve had cared enough to think he deserved it – at least then he’d have known that Steve cared enough to actually feel something for Tony at all, even if it was hate.

Dummy pushed the first aid kit into his hands with a chirp. Tony’s blood smeared across the plastic cover leaving a red streak over the white as he took it, smiling sadly down at Dummy. He hopped one legged towards the couch with Dummy’s help and dropped into the couch, opening the kit up to pull out a piece of gauze. He pressed it against his toe, staunching the bleeding as he applied pressure.

“At least you still love me buddy. I can always count on you.” He sighed to Dummy. Dummy nudged him in the knee, hooting again.

“Yeah yeah. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it, it isn’t that deep. I’ll just tape it up and it’ll be fine… I think.”

“Would you like me to call someone for assistance sir?” Jarvis asked.

Tony looked up sharply, eyes narrowed.

“No. I do not need assistance Mr. Smarty Pants. If you call someone I am personally going to rewrite your program and give it to a daycare centre.” He threatened.

“I believe that I am already running a daycare centre sir.” Jarvis said, snarky and annoyed sounding.

“Yeah, yeah. Leave me alone – I’m fine. It’s just a little bleeding. Nothing to worry about.” Tony grumbled, gesturing to his toe. The bleeding had already stopped and although the gauze was bright red, it wasn’t getting any worse he thought. He pulled the gauze back to look at the wound and saw that there was a thick red line running from the tip of his toe to the base of it. He took a packet of disinfectant from the first aid kit and wiped at the cut, wincing through the burn, and then wrapped his toe up in more gauze and went to town with surgical tape, winding it around and around. The bandage began to go red again, much faster than last time and he cursed aloud, glaring at it for its insolence. Some of the blood was from his fingers, he realized after a moment of staring blankly at his toe; he may have blacked out there for a second, he wasn’t sure. The cut was soon bleeding so heavily that blood began to drip from his toe once more, drops falling onto the cement floor.

Perfect. Just perfect. He hated getting stitches.

“Hey Jarvis, can you uh… call an ambulance or something. I think I need stitches.” He grumbled, annoyed by his body’s weakness. He wiped at his face and smeared a red streak from his nose to his lower lip.

“Shall I inform Master Barton that you require assistance sir?” Jarvis asked.

“Why not. He can ride with me and Happy to the emergency room. He’ll get a kick out of this at least. Maybe we can go get ice cream after.”

“Very good sir. In the meantime please try to keep pressure on the wound.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony grunted and tested his foot out finding that he couldn’t put any weight on the foot anymore. Who knew that injuring a toe could hurt so much? He managed to hop his way to the door with Dummy’s help as it snapped open and found himself standing face to face with a very irritated looking Clint who was talking on his cell. Clint frowned when he saw the blood all over Tony’s face and hands.

“Hold on Steve, I have to take Tony to the emergency room. I’ll call you back later.”

Clint managed to hang up and stuff the phone in his pocket before he had to grab Tony around the waist to keep him from falling to the ground as he passed out.

 

 

Tony woke up in a hospital room with a sweet looking lady sewing up his toe. She smiled at him and explained kindly that he’d passed out from shock and blood loss but that there wasn’t any real damage and he didn’t even need a blood transfusion, lucky him! He grinned meekly at her and then looked away while she continued to stitch up his toe, not particularly font of watching a needle go in and out of his toe-skin. It took seven stitches in total and the nurse was even nice enough to give him a tetanus shot afterwards. She’d already bandaged up his hands when he had been unconscious, which had indeed been bleeding more than he had thought they had been. She warned him about keeping an eye on metal fragments lying around and chidingly suggested that he should wear steel toe boots and gloves in his garage from now on if he was going to be working on anything dangerous. He thanked her, resolving to wear some kind of foot protection so that he didn’t have to embarrass himself like this again and was then allowed to hop on crutches back out into the waiting room where a semi-bored looking Clint was waiting for him; Clint’s clothing was a little blood stained from where Tony’s hands had brushed against him. He matched the rest of the emergency room décor; most of the other people waiting around were blood stained and tired looking too.

“Enjoy getting your stitches Princess?” Clint asked with a yawn, grinning when Tony shot him a dirty look. “Of course you did. You can tell Steve all about it when we get home.” Clint commented, standing up.

“Yeah, I’m sure _that’s_ happening.” Tony grunted, trying to focus on staying upright instead of on the thought of Steve being at home. Tony hobbled towards the door and then half turned to look back at Clint, who hadn’t moved and was now standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“You do remember who I was talking to before you unceremoniously passed out in my arms, right?” Clint grunted.

“Not really. Why? Was it someone important like the pizza delivery guy or Pepper?” Tony joked, wanting to do nothing more than get the hell out of the emergency room; he’d long since gotten tired of the smell of blood and antiseptic.

“I was talking with Steve. He phoned your cell seven times after you didn’t answer that last text of his. He thought something was wrong.”

“Well nothing was wrong and nothing’s wrong now – I’m all stitched up and fancy free. Take me home Jeeves. I wish to go to sleep.” Tony grumbled, hopping towards the door again.

“Steve’s waiting at the mansion. He freaked out when I hung up on him and I had to practically scream at him when he called back in the car to get him to calm down go back to the mansion instead of rushing over here. He thought you’d done something to yourself because of him.” Clint said quietly; he was suddenly completely serious, a strange thing for Clint. Tony frowned, stopping in mid hop.

“He what? He thought I’d hurt myself?”

“Yeah. Apparently he had a friend who tried to kill himself once after some really traumatic event. Some guy called Bucky. He was really upset and wouldn’t believe me when I told him that it was because you’d fucked up your toe and hands while going bat shit crazy on the Iron Dog. He seemed to think that I was covering for you or something. Like I was lying about what had happened because you didn’t want me to tell him what had happened.” Clint growled, drumming his fingers on his arm.

Tony sighed.

“And he’s at the mansion now, is he? Got all worried about me after he thought I tried to what, kill myself because of him?”

“That’s what I got from it, yes.”

“Give me my phone.” Tony grunted.

Clint pulled Tony’s phone from his pocket and handed it to Tony, who scrolled through Steve’s texts and began to type, balancing himself on the crutches to keep from putting too much weight on his injured toe. When he finished, he handed the phone back to Clint and hobbled out the door to Happy, who gingerly hefted him up and carried him to the car with Tony’s crutches tucked under his arm. Clint caught up just as Tony was being seat belted in by an overenthusiastic Happy; he kept giving Tony a strangely sad look whenever he caught his eye and Tony was starting to suspect that Happy had suspected the same thing Steve had.

“You texted him that he shouldn’t worry about because – and I quote here because it’s just so precious – you don’t intend on causing any problems for him and are fine with him not wanting a relationship because you didn’t think he liked you that much anyways?” Clint climbed in the car, clambering over top of Tony and settled in the seat next to him. Happy gave him a look for climbing over the upholstery and closed the door behind him, getting into the driver’s seat with a grumble.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Clint said, flicking Tony in the ear. Tony winced, rubbing the sting from the shell of his ear.

“Well it’s not like it’s a lie, is it? I’m not saying anything rude. He doesn’t even like me.”

“You don’t know that – he was worried about you!”

“Being worried about a teammate doesn’t mean they care about you or that they like you – it means that you’re being a good team leader and you’re concerned about your troops.” Tony said, turning away from Clint to look out the window as Happy pulled out and started driving them home.

“Since when did you play petty? I mean ok – you can be petty most of the time, but come on. This is Steve. You _like_ Steve. He’s not just your team leader.” Clint said.

The phone buzzed. Tony and Clint both looked at it; neither wanted to be the one to read what had arrived.

“Well?” Clint said, gesturing to the phone.

“You do it. You’re the one who’s so worried about Steve’s sensibilities.” Tony snapped, turning to look back at the window. He didn’t want to know what Steve had said – it wouldn’t change anything between them, and it certainly wouldn’t take away how much Tony had begun to love Steve. God, he thought to himself, feeling his eyes well with tears, he’d started to love Steve even! How unfair was that! The one time he actually found something good too and it was gone before it had started – what a pain in the ass! He was glad that Steve had returned, but it would be painful to see him there after that last message. He’d have to spend most of his time in the workshop to keep from mooning about where people could see him. Maybe it would all pass and he’d get over Steve. After a few seconds of thought, Tony highly doubted it.

Clint pursed his lips, reading the text message. He looked up at Tony, looking embarrassed, and held the phone out to him.

“You should read this.”

“I don’t want to. It changes nothing.”

“Stop being a child and read it.” Clint said, thrusting the phone into Tony’s face. Tony caught it with a squawk and scowled at Clint, who had turned away. Tony caught sight of Clint’s reflection in the window; the archer looked gloomy and somewhat tired, as if he’d spent too much time down in the workshop like Tony often did.

Tony looked at the text message, knowing that he had to get it over with; better to rip off the band aid in one shot then to slowly drag it out.

‘Tony – please don’t hurt yourself. I care about you and I don’t want to see you hurt. I’d like to still be friends if that is possible. Can we please talk when you come home? I want to do this face to face.’

Tony scowled at the text.

“Great. Now, after I’ve had stitches and a tetanus shot he wants to rip my heart out and step on it in front of me and witnesses. This is the perfect end to a perfect day. I can’t wait to get back home!” He said, groaning. He dropped the phone onto the seat in between himself and Clint and wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his blood stained jeans. The bandages on his fingers itched; he moved to scratch them and was blocked by Clint. Clint’s hand covered his for a moment, trying to offer sympathy. Tony pushed his hand away, stuffing his hands in his pockets out of sight despite the itch; Clint flicked him in the ear again and he winced, but smiled despite the brief pain.

He’d be alright. He could get over this. He was sure of it. He’d done it before after all.

 

 

They arrived home twenty minutes later. Tony allowed himself to once more be carried by Happy into the house where they were greeted by a hassled looking Natasha and a semi-confused looking Bruce. Natasha hit Tony in the head with the palm of her hand when he was put down; Happy seemed to approve of this. Tony grumbled to himself about the fact that everyone loved beating on him and then allowed himself to be manhandled by both Clint and Natasha into the living room where Steve sat waiting, looking uncomfortable. Steve looked as if he was in the room for the first time of his life again; it was as if he’d been stripped of all his ease. Tony winced internally; he hadn’t meant for Steve to be so unhappy about everything. He attached himself to the arm rest, not trusting himself to sit directly beside Steve on the couch itself and sat with his toes dangling above the carpet.

Steve cleared his throat and looked at the others, who reluctantly left them to let them have some privacy. Tony had no doubt that Natasha would be listening to them the whole time anyways, probably while standing on Clint’s back with her ear pressed up against the wall. He smiled at the thought and then shrugged at Steve, who was frowning at him.

“So. You wanted to talk?” Tony said, feeling the need to start the conversation off in a somewhat less uncomfortable manner than Steve probably would have. He’d already had one ‘so you tried to kill yourself’ conversation in his life, and didn’t relish the thought of having another.

“I was worried about you. Clint told me you locked yourself in the workshop and that you hadn’t been eating. And then Clint said that he had to take you to the emergency room.” Steve said softly, eyes locking with Tony’s. Tony looked away after a while, not feeling up to keeping such a steady gaze.

“That’s pretty par for the course, really. Nothing to be concerned about. I was destroying the Iron Dog and I got a little carried away. Next time I’ll remember to wear boots and gloves when I do it.” Tony shrugged. Steve slid closer to him, slipping across the cushions like a cat. He reached up and took one of Tony’s bandaged hands in between his own, frowning at the fabric wrapped around Tony’s fingers.

“You should be more careful.” Steve frowned, lips pursing.

“It’s fine Steve. It was only a few stitches and some scrapes on my hands. Let it go already.”

“Tony – “

“Look, if you need anything just let Jarvis know. I’ll keep out of your hair and you don’t have to worry about me being some kind of freak and stalking you around all over the place. I can take a no when I get one – it’s fine, really.” Tony blurted. He pulled his hand away from Steve and tried to stand up, balancing unsteadily on one leg.

“Tony. I want you to know that it’s not going to happen again. I’m not going to… fall into that again. I don’t want to lose you as a friend. I respect you. You’re a good person -”

“It’s fine Steve. I understand completely. I’d like to stay friends with you too – I missed having you around.” Tony flashed Steve a shaky smile despite how it hurt; he felt like someone had put fish hooks in his cheeks and attached wires so that he could smile on cue.

Steve looked relieved.

“Really? I thought you’d be… angry with me for what I did.”

“Why should I be angry with you Steve? I’m the one who messed things up. It’s not _your_ fault that I’m crazy.” Tony sighed. He started to hop towards the door; he spied Natasha and Clint standing with their backs to the wall just down the hall from the living room and gave them a tired nod, continuing out of the room.

“You’re not crazy – “ Steve protested; his words fell on deaf ears. Tony slunk away, knowing that he wouldn’t push Steve into anything ever again. His life felt a little emptier when he tore the thoughts of Steve out of them. He could live with it. He could. He’d have to.

 

 

Clint sat with Tony on his bed while he recovered. It was strangely quiet in the room despite there being two occupants; Clint had a new book to read and Tony was busy sulking and trying to get some quality sleep in. He learned through Clint that Steve had decided to stay in the mansion and that he’d moved back into his room. It was a nice start over for Steve. Tony vowed to keep out of his way so that he’d be able to feel comfortable again; Steve deserved good things and nice places. It wouldn’t be fair for Steve to have to look at him every time he walked into a room. Tony would have felt uncomfortable with that kind of threat hanging over his head, so he tried to stick to his room and only crept out of it when he needed to get something to eat; Clint trailed behind him wherever he went now.

Tony felt that he had grown up a little. He usually did things that suited his needs, and now he was making sure that Steve was comfortable and able to get on with his life. It didn’t matter that this meant that Tony was going to have to sulk his way through yet another wave of rage educed depression alone. At least Steve would be happy again – eventually. He only wanted Steve to be happy.

Tony rolled over and poked Clint in the side, the blankets covering his legs. Clint raised an eyebrow to acknowledge the touch but didn’t turn away from his reading.

“Do you think I’m doing this right? Or is this just going to make things worse?” Tony asked quietly.

“Worse for whom?” Clint asked, reluctantly closing his book.

“I don’t know. For Steve I guess.”

Clint tapped his index finger on his lower lip, thinking about Tony’s question.

“I don’t think it could get any worse for Steve. He’s busy hiding in the workout room and according to Nat he hasn’t been doing anything while in there. He just keeps staring at the punching bags as if he doesn’t know what to do with them.” Clint said finally.

“Oh god. I’m the worst person ever – I broke Captain America.” Tony squeaked, pulling a pillow over his head.

“Smoother me – please. Put me out of my misery.”

“Too easy. You have to suffer through just like the rest of us. He’ll get over it eventually; just give him some space and time. He came back, didn’t he? That’s got to be a good sign if there is one.”

“You think?” Tony asked, moving the pillow a fraction of an inch away from his eye so that he could see Clint’s face. Clint had turned his attention back to the book; Tony scowled and pulled the pillow back over his eyes.

“Of course it’s a good sign. He didn’t ask to have himself taken off the Avengers roster, and he hasn’t dropped off the face of the earth to go hide in some strange foreign country to hide his shame. He’s sulking in the workout room a few doors down – that’s definitely a good thing.”

Clint closed the book and marked his page with a piece of scrap paper he slipped out from behind his ear.

“You know, I wasn’t so sure that you’d be so adult about this but I’m impressed Stark. You’re handling this with a lot more class than I thought you capable of.”

“You’ve been talking to Coulson, haven’t you?” Tony grumbled, rolling onto his side, turning away from Clint.

“Kinda hard not to, seeing as how we’ve been dating for the past three months. He told me some very colourful stories of his first week knowing you by the way.”

Tony rolled over, eyebrows attempting to leap off his forehead in their shock.

“What?!”

“Hey, keep it down. He’s not as open with things as I am and I’d appreciate it if you kept this to yourself.” Clint growled.

“Alright. I can do that.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed suddenly.

“Does Natasha know about this? I thought you guys were – you know.”

Clint laughed loudly, dropping the book from his hand.

“God, what are you, crazy? She’d rip my balls off if I tried to touch her again – we broke up a long time ago man. We’re history.”

“Huh.”

“We were lucky. We became friends again after it happened, but it took a while – thus why I have firsthand experience with your problem with Steve.” Clint said, stretching out. He lay down next to Tony, looking up at the ceiling.

“It’s tricky but it can be done if you both mean to make it work.”

“I want it to work.”

“I’m sure you do, but you’re miles ahead of Steve right now. He’s still jogging in place at the starting line trying to figure out the route. Give him time.”

“You’ve been talking to Pepper too.”

“Maybe.”

“Asshole.”

“Baby.”

Clint and Tony laughed together. Somehow things didn’t feel so empty anymore. Tony could see a future – maybe not the one he wanted, but it would be the one he would be getting regardless. He could be friends with Steve. It was the best he could hope for – and at least he’d become closer with Clint and Natasha at the same time too. Maybe it wasn’t all bad. His mind drifted back to Steve that night they had slept together. He shuddered as he remembered the look on Steve’s face when he had told Tony to get out.

Maybe not. He’d have to wait and see what the future had in store for him.

 

 

Tony snuck down to his workshop two days after he’d come back from emergency room and locked himself in. It was nice to be alone in the workshop again; despite Clint’s company, he had become restless, too many things floating around in his head. He’d been working off of a tablet for most of the time, but really, there was only so much time he could spend poking at schematics with a stylus while Clint snored beside him.

He was pleased to see that Jarvis had had the place cleaned up since his last escapade. A pair of steel-toed boots were sitting in front of the door when he got in and he pulled them on carefully, making sure not to jostle his toe too much lest it start throbbing uncomfortably again. He was pleased to find that Jarvis had gotten him some boots without laces – they were some kind of specialized Velcro contraptions that he could yank off quickly if necessary – a handy addition, as he’d want to be able to get them off if he dumped, say, molten metal on himself. Not that he planned to do that. He looked around guiltily, feeling as if he’d just terrorized Steve again with the thought of accidental injury and then set about calling up his various projects, papering the walls and windows with the blueprints; he threw most things up haphazardly, but kept his eye out for Steve’s files. He set all of Steve’s things in their own section of the room and then went about making improvements to Clint’s bow and armor, knowing that he owed the archer one – more than one, but again, he’d never admit it to Clint’s face. He also toyed with improvements for the Widow’s Bite and then put those files away, not sure whether Natasha would want him screwing around with her stuff. He decided to improve her boots instead, not wanting to touch her body armor, and was pleasantly surprised when Jarvis informed him seventeen hours later that it was ‘getting late’ and that he should go to sleep.

He debated on following Jarvis’s orders – he did. Yet his mind drifted back to Steve and then he had to drown himself in work again just so that he could get Steve out of his head. He tried compartmentalized the Captain America files so that they had absolutely no attachment to Steve Rogers but of course they somehow ended up having that attachment anyways; he eventually had to close them all down and push them away after he’d finished making more improvements to Steve’s armor. He hid the files inside a folder and decided to poke at the Iron Man’s temperature controls, ignoring the rumbling coming from his stomach.

“Tony?”

Steve’s voice cut through the fog of work. Tony froze, half inside the Iron Man’s torso; he had been cleaning out bits of thread that had gotten trapped in it from when he’d got his bandages frustratingly stuck in between the panels ten minutes prior.

“I brought you some dinner. Clint said that you hadn’t been up from the workshop in a while and that I should go check on you.” Steve said. He was clutching a plate of spaghetti in front of him, watching Tony carefully. Tony sighed and untangled himself from the insides of the Iron Man torso, limping towards Steve, who set the plate down on his table and backed off.

Tony looked at the food. He looked at the way Steve was slowly inching his way out of the room backwards. He felt his stomach twist and bunch inside of him. He managed a painful smile in Steve’s direction before he sat down at the table and started eating. He heard Steve leave the room and wasn’t surprised that he was alone again so quickly.

At least Steve had come downstairs to look for him. That was something.

He finished the spaghetti and made his way to the couch feeling full and bloated. He asked Jarvis to dim the lights and went to sleep sprawled out with his feet hanging off the side of the couch and his head pillowed in the crook of his elbow.

He awoke the next morning with his boots off and a blanket draped over his body. He wasn’t sure who had done it, but the fact that the plate had disappeared as well led him to think that it may have been Steve. He closed his eyes again and went back to sleep, not wanting to think about what that meant to him.

 

 

Tony continued to spend his time in the workshop; he didn’t feel like going upstairs where he might inadvertently run into Steve. He’d made one mandatory trip up to the kitchen when Clint had physically come down and dragged him up, but after that he’d remained hidden away, buried in his work. Clint had commented that it was childish; Tony had responded that it was completely necessary and that he had two months’ worth of work to catch up on. Clint had then pointed out that Tony had gotten _that_ done the first week he’d started working again and Tony had just had to shrug at him and take it for what it was. He started ordering in takeout again to appease the vengeful archer and paid slightly more attention to his sleeping habits, although he didn’t stop working for hours on end. He found himself preferring the company of his robots to the company of the others – he liked Clint’s jokes and Natasha’s death glares (although he wasn’t quite sure why in Natasha’s case, as she scared him) and he even put up with Bruce’s mouth reading, but it felt too raw still. Being upstairs with the others only reminded him that he would be depriving Steve of his Tony-free-time.

Tony wiped sweat off of his forehead and laid his wrench down on the table. He looked up at the clock again and numbly realized that yet another twenty hours gone by while he was working. How long had it been since he’d slept in his own bed? He usually slept on the couch now in the workshop, too lazy and exhausted to climb the stairs to his own room. He would have had to walk by Steve’s room to get to his own, and he’d been trying to give Steve space – he couldn’t do that if he was constantly under Steve’s feet and in his way.

The door to his workshop slid open with a chirp; Tony looked up from his work, knowing that he looked more than a little bit like a racoon, and squinted with beady eyes at the visitor. Steve walked confidently towards him holding out a plate with a peanut butter sandwich and a mug of steaming tea. Tony waited for him to put his offering down; he expected Steve to make a break for the door as soon as the plate touched the table. This time however, Steve dragged a stool from the kitchen and sat down across the table from Tony. He had his sketchpad tucked under one arm and a very determined expression on his face that could have been used to convince someone to throw themselves in front of a car to please him.

“I figured you could use some company.” Steve said, trying to put on his best smile. Tony blinked blearily at him; he rubbed at his eyes, looking down at the plate and then up at Steve again feeling very muddled; he didn’t know what to do. Steve caught his expression and paled, fingers clenching on the sketchbook so tightly that he knuckles went white from the pressure.

“Unless you didn’t – “

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.” Tony yawned, picking up a piece of the sandwich. Steve had cut it up in quarters, taking the crusts off of it too. He had the sneaking suspicion that those crusts had been fed someone, possibly Clint or the pigeons outside, as Steve had always been pretty adamant about not wasting food. He chewed thoughtfully on the first bite and then took a sip of tea, letting the warm flavor of peach ginger melt away the residual peanut butter. Steve watched him carefully, still poised for flight on the edge of the stool. Tony leans forwards and allows himself a break, resting against the flatness of the table. The sandwich quarter remained held loosely in his hand, only a small chunk of it left. He let out another yawn and then tried to cover it by stuffing the rest of the square into his mouth.

Steve smiled softly and began to arrange his drawing supplies on the table beside Tony, picking out his first pencil; it was from the pack Tony had bought him when he’d first come to the mansion as a sort of home warming gift. Most of the pencils were worn down to little stubs that wouldn’t really be useful to a normal person, but Steve being Steve didn’t appear hampered by this at all. He grasped the longest pencil stub in between his fingers, fingers that Tony was intimately familiar with, and then began to sketch, eyes on the paper and nothing else.

Tony picked up another sandwich quarter with shaking hands. He blamed the shaking on the lack of sleep and excess caffeine and refused to admit to himself that it was because Steve was sitting only a foot away and that he could smell the shampoo in his hair – he’d switched from the one he used to use when Tony had been a dog. It smelled fruity; maybe he’d gotten it from Natasha, who had a penchant for using the expensive herbal shampoos that he bought for Bruce because they were supposed to be ‘calming’, or so the label read. He hadn’t really cared enough to test it out for himself to be sure. Being calm wasn’t usually his thing. He took in a slow, deep breath, tasting Steve’s shampoo on his tongue and then almost choked on the next bite when he realized that Steve was looking at him again.

“Tony?”

“Mhogwh?” Tony managed, trying to speak around the mouthful. He took another swallow of tea and cleared his throat. He kept the mug close to his face, hands wrapped around it for the warmth, steadying himself.

“Yes?”

Steve smiled a little at the way Tony held the mug up against his lips as a shield.

“How are things going down here? You seem tired.”

“Things are… going. I’m not too sure at the moment. Give me a couple minutes so the caffeine kicks in and I’ll let you know.” Tony groaned, letting his eyes close for a moment. He jerked awake when Steve’s hand took the mug away from him, setting it down on the table. He blinked at Steve again, confused.

“You fell asleep.” Steve explained softly. The sketchbook was lying ignored beside his hand, the stub of a pencil tucked against the elastic band holding the pencil case together; the case had broken the first week and Steve hadn’t let anyone throw it out or buy him a new one.

“Mhm… bound to happen when you fly on … three hours sleep?” Tony guessed, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt at humor. Steve’s smile turned into a deep set frown.

“You’re working down here on three hours’ worth of sleep?” Steve asked. He moved his arms, starting to cross them over his chest and Tony waved at him, trying to calm him down.

“I’ll just take a nap on the couch, relax.” He said, yawning.

Steve watched him as he slipped from his seat and staggered over to the couch, collapsing onto it with his feet kicked up on the armrest.

“You’re going to sleep with your boots on?” Steve asked tone only slightly judgemental.

Tony wiggled his feet.

“Too lazy. No point in taking them off if I’m just going to have to put them back on after I wake up.”

He closed his eyes, crossing his arms over his stomach, leaning just slightly so that the light wouldn’t go directly into his eyes. He dozed for a moment before he felt Steve taking his boots off and tensed.

“What are you doing?” Tony asked carefully.

“Taking your boots off so that your legs don’t fall asleep.” Steve said, leaning over Tony’s leg to get at his other foot to pry the boot off. He set Tony’s boots down beside the couch and then went back to the stool, his back turned to Tony on the couch. Tony could hear the sound of pencil scratching against paper; his eyelids drooped, the sound hypnotic, and slowly drifted off as he listened to Steve work in the distance.

He woke up again when a blanket was being tucked around his shoulders. He blinked sleepily up at Steve, eyes not quite focusing, and drifted off again when Steve’s hand brushed his matted bangs out of his eyes.

 

 

Tony awoke to the smell of French toast. He sniffed, poking his head out from under the blanket and looked around, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. Steve was sitting at the table Tony had left him at the night before. Two plates of French toast with powdered sugar sat on the table, one in front of Steve and one on the opposite side of the table. Tony could smell the scent of coffee percolating as well; he stretched, confused and sleep addled.

“Come eat.” Steve commanded, his back still turned to Tony.

Tony struggled out of the blanket he had cocooned himself in, dumping it on the cushion beside him and then stood up, cracking his back. The muscles in his back felt better this morning too – it was morning, he assumed, judging by the French toast, which meant that he’d probably been asleep for several hours longer than he had intended to be.

“And put on your shoes.”

Tony grumbled to himself and slipped his sore foot into the first boot, balancing against the arm of the chair. He snapped the Velcro in place and then grabbed for the other boot, hoping that things would make sense by the time he managed to trudge over to where Steve was. He sat down in his chair and stared at Steve through half lidded eyes, brain still not completely functioning at optimum levels.

Steve smiled shyly and pushed the second plate closer Tony. He stood up as Tony stared down at the French toast in confusion, fork raised up above the dish held in a slightly off kilter way. Steve went to the coffee maker, pouring two cups of coffee into red mugs; he stirred in four spoonfuls of sugar into one of the mugs and then put some cream and sugar in the other one. He carried them both back to the table, setting the mug with just sugar in front of Tony. He paused to lower Tony’s fork arm towards the actual plate and then gave him a light pat on the head as Tony began to cut up the toast.

Tony ate the French toast with relish. He hadn’t eaten a lot of breakfast in his life; he usually just choked down a doughnut or some kind of pastry with several cups of coffee when he remembered to eat breakfast at all. He swallowed a sweet bite and then cut another. His mind wandered to Steve without his informed consent. It was strange to be this close to Steve again after all this time. He still hadn’t gotten used to the way Steve looked at him, and it had only been a few hours of conscious wakefulness in Steve’s presence, mind you, so he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t still dreaming. He took a quick sip of his coffee and found that, as he had expected, Steve had made it perfectly, although how Tony didn’t know, because Steve had never really made him coffee before; maybe he had taken lessons from Clint. He looked questioningly at Steve, who sipped from his own cup, feigning innocence and ignored him, focusing on his own breakfast instead.

“So, “ Steve began, cutting the rest of Tony’s French toast up for him when Tony began to doze off in mid sip. “What are you planning to do today?”

Tony took another long sip of coffee, trying to phrase a coherent sentence that would satisfy Steve.

“Work… maybe?” Tony managed, unsure of what else to say.

“Do you mind if I stay down here and sketch? Clint’s been bouncing off the walls and it’s distracting trying to sketch with him constantly moving from room to room.” Steve asked cautiously.

“Sure. Feel free.” Tony mumbled, finishing his coffee with an appreciative sigh. He set the cup down and began to eat a few more pieces of toast, not looking at Steve. He started when his coffee cup materialized beside him again, full to the brim with coffee that was just as sweet as before. He nodded his thanks to Steve, smiling softly and finished eating. He cradled the coffee in between his hands, watching Steve work on another sketch out of the corner of his eye and then put the cup down to shuffle off to the bathroom to take a shower.

He returned later and Steve was still sitting at the table sketching away. The plates had vanished somewhere and the coffee pot was on again, making more coffee that smelled strongly of Easter – he stared at the pot suspiciously. Steve grinned sheepishly at him.

“Pepper said that you liked this kind when you were at your meeting.” Steve offered.

Tony smiled and went back to work; it felt nice to have someone in the workshop with him again. He felt more calm than normal, and didn’t even turn his music up to deafening when he worked, knowing that Steve wouldn’t like it. God, he knew, he would have cut off his own hand if it would have made Steve happy. He banged his head against the Iron Man as he worked beside it; the thunk that came from it caused Steve’s head to jerk up. Steve stared at him, concern written on every line of his face. Tony grinned weakly at him and went back to work, trying to forget the way Steve’s lips had curled into a smile when he’d seen that Tony was alright.

 

 

“Hey Tony?”

Steve’s voice pierced the musical fog Tony had been working in. He paused, looking up from his holographic projection of the latest Stark Phone, and turned to face Steve. Steve was sitting at the table where he usually sat and had sat for the past three weeks. He had ink stains on his chin from the set of pens that Tony had bought for him to use after he’d run out of his pencils. Tony wanted to grab him by the face and kiss the ink away; he’d had to struggle with himself to keep from letting this show and often had to turn away whenever Steve did something particularly cute so that Steve wouldn’t see him blatantly staring.

“Tony?” Steve repeated.

“Yes? Sorry I got distracted there for a second. What’s up?” Tony asked, pushing the hologram away so that Steve would have his full attention. He rubbed at his eyes and then rested his chin on his clasped hands, elbows resting on the table.

“Do you ever think about that night…” Steve asked; he went pink all of a sudden, cheeks flushing and turned away as if he’d suddenly seen Tony standing naked in front of him.

“That night?” Tony asked, pretending not to know what Steve was talking about. He stared at Steve through half closed eyes, trying to keep all expression from his face in case it stopped Steve from talking. He didn’t have to worry – Steve seemed intent on continuing the discussion even though he was obviously embarrassed by it.

“The night we slept together.” Steve said voice barely above a whisper. He clutched the pen in his hands as if it were some kind of soft and fluffy object that he could cling to – maybe to Steve’s super soldier strength it was. The pen bent to the left, snapping in half, spraying him with ink. He stared aghast at Tony, ink dripping down his shirt and cheek.

Tony laughed. He couldn’t help it. It came out as a deep and warm sound; he was soon laughing so hard that he almost fell clean off of his chair, clutching the edge of the table to keep from dropping to the ground. His brain only picked up on Steve’s question again after a few minutes of floundering in complete oxygen deprivation.

He wiped his eyes and saw that Steve looked hurt and mortified at the same time.

“Oh god – sorry. It’s just. The ink – jesus.” Tony gestured at Steve, who blinked and then realized just what it was that Tony was laughing about. Relief flooded his face and he began to wipe at his cheeks with the back of his hand, hopelessly smearing his cheek with black. Tony started laughing again. This time, he managed to rein the amusement in faster and stalked to the kitchen to get a paper towel which he wetted and brought to Steve. He wanted to wipe at Steve’s face; he handed him the paper towel instead. Steve looked almost… disappointed. If Tony hadn’t known any better he would have been certain that Steve looked unhappy that he hadn’t touched him like Tony had wanted to.

“So do you… do you think about it?” Steve asked again, after scrubbing at his cheek with the paper towel. Tony stood nearby, ready to take the dirty paper towel away when he was done with it. He shrugged his shoulders, not sure how to respond to Steve’s question. Steve’s eyes were on him still and he felt his face go red as he thought about it.

“Yeah… I think about it.” He said, trying to appear noncommittal.

“How often?” Steve asked, serious looking. He had his Captain America voice on – it was disturbingly distracting. Tony found himself swallowing hard, not wanting to meet Steve’s eyes. Should he tell him the truth? The Voice was telling him that he should be – but would it really do either of them any good to know that Tony thought about that night every waking hour when he wasn’t distracting himself with his work?

“Tony.”

Tony looked up from his feet and cleared his throat.

“Uh… often?” Tony said, scratching the back of his head. He smiled weakly at Steve, who didn’t smile back and then sighed, looking back down at his feet. “I uh… hope that doesn’t… make you uncomfortable.”

Steve wiped at his face again, smearing the ink across his cheek bone and onto his lip. Tony couldn’t help it. He reached out and cupped Steve’s chin in his hand, taking the damp paper towel from his un-protesting hands and wiped at the streak, gently washing it away. He lingered a little longer than was strictly necessary and let Steve’s chin drop when he saw the way Steve was staring at him with a look akin to sternness.

“Sorry.” Tony said, taking the dirty paper towel into the kitchen. He took a moment to collect himself, trying to slow his breathing so that it wouldn’t be too obvious that he was terrified. When he turned back, Steve’s eyes were still on him, the serious expression turning to something softer and less threatening; as if Tony were a child that didn’t understand what he’d done was insulting.

“What about you?” Tony asked, going on the offensive out of impulse.

Steve shook his head.

“No. I don’t really think about it often.”

Then why, Tony thought, had Steve even asked? Tony cleared his throat again and pushed away from the counter. He flashed a grin at Steve and then went back to work, aware that Steve was watching him the entire time.

 

Tony started sleeping in his own bed again after the last conversation with Steve. There didn’t seem to be much point in avoiding him; Steve spent a lot of time in the workshop now, and they were almost always together at some point. Tony decided that he could at least have the decency to go upstairs and follow Steve’s instructions for once. He liked the idea of being able to curl up in his bed again, even if it meant that he would be alone and cold the next morning. He could dream in peace about Steve, and continue to live in his fantasy world where they hadn’t broken away from one another when he was in his bed; Steve seemed to act as if nothing had happened most of the time, and Tony wasn’t surprised. He’d only talked about the night they had been together once, and then he’d been unsurprisingly quiet about it.

He divided his mornings between sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee, watching Clint and Thor argue about the merits of the cartoon network, and slinking back into the workshop so that he was out of everyone’s hair. Clint had cornered him in the hallway a few times already so that he could ask how things were going on the Steve front, and Tony had been fairly truthful with him about it. Things were… going. He wasn’t unhappy – sure, Steve didn’t want anything to do with him other than friendship and he was perpetually aboard the friend- _ship_ as it were, but it didn’t make him unhappy. He liked having Steve around and Steve’s presence genuinely brightened up his days. Steve would bring him coffee and sometimes he’d bring him down bagels if he found out that Tony had skipped breakfast again. He brought Tony lunch and sometimes even dinner when Tony didn’t emerge from the cocoon that was his workshop. It was nice. It was… routine; familiar in a way that he hadn’t had before. Sure, sometimes when he looked at Steve, he found himself wanting to push the man down so that he could cover his face and neck with scratchy kisses, but he’d never act on it again – not without Steve’s consent and possibly not even if he’d had Steve’s written permission signed in blood with a thumb print and two witnesses.

He was down in the workshop fiddling with one of his cars when Steve caught him and dragged him away to sit down at the table again, force feeding him cake this time. Something Steve had made with Natasha’s instructions, Steve had said. He’d looked mighty proud of the concoction, and so Tony had eaten it. It had tasted _awful_ – most of Steve’s cooking was wonderful, but the cake seemed like it had been made with kitty litter instead of flour. He grimaced and choked his way through it until he found he couldn’t choke down anymore and then, unhappily, told Steve what he thought of the cake, trying to be as kind as possible.

“This cake tastes like ass, Steve.” He coughed, taking a deep draught from the glass of milk Steve had given him. Steve watched him carefully, his own fork halfway to his mouth.

“I know. I was wondering when you were going to point it out.” Steve admitted, a smile breaking out across his face like wildfire.

Tony coughed, almost inhaling the milk.

“You’re a crafty man Rogers – I’d have never thought you capable of evil.” He joked, wiping the milk off of his mouth and lips. Steve picked up a napkin and wiped milk and cake crumbs off of Tony’s chin, the smile never leaving his lips.

“I don’t get you sometimes.” Tony said with a sigh. He put the fork down and then pushed the plate away, not moving, but certainly not pushing Steve’s hand away. Steve faltered, looking startled; he looked at the hand he was using to wipe Tony’s chin and then jerked it away, scowling at something. Tony wasn’t sure what had displeased him, but whatever it was had been something big because Steve was soon picking up both their plates and vanishing out the door without another word.

Tony stared at his hands, confused and then mopped up the crumbs on the table, sweeping them into a pile before depositing them into the trash can. When he was finished, he went back to work, getting Jarvis to pull up the files for the Stark Phone. He’d almost finished working out the bugs in its UI and he’d been neglecting it anyways.

“Tony?”

Steve had appeared back in the lab, probably when Tony was busy calculating things in his head, and he’d been so silent that Tony hadn’t even noticed him returning. He turned halfway, pushing the schematics away, saving them.

“Yes?”

Steve approached carefully. He’d changed out of his clothing from earlier and was wearing sweat pants and a white t-shirt – the t-shirt, in fact, which he’d worn the night they had slept together. Tony knew because he remembered the way the fabric frayed at the collar, strings hanging loose against the back of Steve’s neck. Tony stared at him, baffled. Steve closed the distance between them in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Tony looked up from his chair, neck craned, into Steve’s intensely blue eyes, unable to comprehend what was going on. Steve reached out and lifted him up by the front of his shirt; Tony was suddenly standing. Steve kicked the chair out of the way and leaned Tony against the table; the edge dug into Tony’s back, but he didn’t care. Steve’s mouth was pressed against his, hot and heavy and open. Steve licked his way into Tony’s mouth and Tony stood there confused, participating but nonetheless confused.

When they broke apart, Steve stared deeply into his eyes again, and Tony was lifted up onto the table. Steve’s hands moved all over his torso underneath his shirt, stroking and squeezing his flesh. He managed to break free after a moment of abject breathlessness and grabbed Steve by the wrists, panting.

“Steve. What are you doing?” He asked, hating himself for asking but needing to ask anyways.

Steve slipped his body in between Tony’s knees, pushing his legs apart and leaned forwards, pressing their bodies together. Tony scooted closer to the edge of the table, wanting to be closer; he lingered there on the edge, hoping that he wasn’t dreaming. Steve kissed him again, slow and sweet and then pulled back slightly as if to admire his work, eyes more black than blue. He looked Tony over once, smiling wickedly and then leaned in again, pressing his face against Tony’s neck, nibbling the skin there.

“You should know – you started it last time.” Steve breathed into his ear.

Tony’s grasp on Steve’s hands loosened. He allowed himself to be pushed flat against the table and suddenly Steve was pushing his shirt up over his head; Steve threw the shirt onto the floor and promptly forgot about it. Tony found his chest traced by Steve’s gentle fingers, moving their way down to the waistband of his sweats where they paused, hovering precariously. Tony’s breath was shaky now; he remembered doing something like this before. He swallowed hard, not sure if he could control himself; he wanted Steve so badly. He moved to slip his hand up under Steve’s shirt and found his hand pushed away; he was surprised when Steve seized him by the wrist, pinning him flat on his back against the table.

“I have one condition if we do this. You don’t get to touch, talk or lead. I want… I want you to feel how I did that night. I want you to lose control completely.” Steve whispered. The words weren’t hurtful, they were said calm and firmly, spilling from Steve’s lips like some kind of love song. Tony nodded, silent agreeing; he would have agreed with anything that came out of Steve’s lips at that point. He could feel his cock swelling against his thigh and smiled shyly up at Steve. Steve faltered, taking in a deep breath, and then began to move again, kissing Tony’s lips relentlessly. His hand slipped down into Tony’s pants, slipping right into his boxers to cup him and Tony let out a gasp into Steve’s mouth. Steve bit Tony’s lower lip and pulled back, shaking his head.

“No sounds either, remember?”

“Pushy, Rogers.”

“Hush.”

Steve kissed his way down Tony’s chest, moving his way down to Tony’s thighs. He pressed kisses to the fabric covering Tony’s inner thigh as he worked his way down lower; his hands slipping down to undo the Velcro of Tony’s boots, dropping them to the ground. He pulled Tony out of the rest of his clothing, leaving him bare and exposed on the table, his arc reactor glimmering blue in the fluorescent light. Tony’s clothing lay scattered around the work table. Tony shivered, skin covered in goose bumps, nipples rigid. His cock was unbearably hard; he kept silent, eyes never leaving Steve as he moved. Steve made short work of his own clothing, struggling out of his socks and shoes before he slipped his hand into the pocket of his sweat pants. Tony watched Steve dig a bottle of lube and a condom out of his pockets – it was the same bottle of lube they’d used the first time and his breath hitched in his chest at the memory, leaving him shivering from more than just the cold. Steve had kept it. He hadn’t thrown it out.

Tony stared unabashedly at Steve, eyes drinking every detail in. Steve was just as gorgeous as he’d been the first time. His muscles looked as if they’d been carved out of stone; he belonged in a fancy museum where people see how close to the gods he was. No. He belonged in someone’s private collection – his, perhaps. Tony looked down at himself and felt a bit ashamed; he was stocky and short in comparison, not at all muscled enough to match the splendor of Steve Rogers. He was small in comparison; Steve was massive. Steve didn’t seem to notice or care about the size difference. Steve reached out and pushed Tony down onto his back, kissing Tony’s throat, biting and sucking at the flesh that met between collar bone and neck. He dropped his hands onto Tony’s chest, pinning him down without pressing and Tony lay still, waiting to see what Steve wanted to do. Steve’s eyelashes were long – so much longer than they had been before and Tony had to stifle a moan, biting his lip painfully hard, as Steve leaned forwards and sucked long and hard on his nipples, moving from one to the other, tongue circling the reddened flesh. He could feel Steve’s cock rubbing against his inner thigh, wet and slick with pre-cum, just like before.

Steve leaned back, looking down at Tony from high above, eyes wild and dark.

“I want to fuck you.” Steve whispered, all throaty and low.

Tony spread his legs coyly, without even stopping to think about anything more than having Steve inside him. Steve reached for the lube and grabbed it, popping the lid open to drip a generous amount onto his thumb. He rubbed that thumb against Tony’s hole, tracing a circle around the entrance. Tony had to bite his lip even harder to keep from moaning as Steve pushed his finger in.

Tony gasped, breathing through his nose as Steve set to work, slipping wet fingers inside of him one at a time, scissoring and rubbing gently. He leaned back, watching Steve work from between his legs again; he flashed back to that first time and shivered, wanting to reach and grab Steve, to make him look in his eyes. He waited, pleasure almost overloading his senses, lifted his legs up to rest his heels on Steve’s shoulders as Steve stroked him inside; his cock remained neglected, swollen and painfully hard. He groaned and gasped when Steve pushed a finger deeper inside him, stroking a place inside him that felt the best of all. Steve looked him in the eye and signaled no, no noise from Tony. Tony nodded fanatically, trying to focus on breathing in and out, feeling the hot throb of his cock rubbing against his body; it had become trapped against his chest when Steve bent him in half. He watched in wonder as Steve slipped three fingers inside him up to the knuckle and bit his lip, tasting blood as Steve worked his fingers inside him again, slightly harder this time. He wanted to moan aloud, to tell Steve that he was doing everything right and struggled to hold the sounds and praises in. Steve slid his fingers out, fumbling with the condom wrapper as he tore it with his teeth. He slid the condom onto his cock with a few shaky unpracticed rolls and looked down at Tony, panting; he held the lube so tightly in his hand that some oozed down the sides of the bottle. Steve breathed hard, staring at the tube as if having just noticed it for the first time. He wiped the oozing lube onto his hand, smearing his cock, rubbing at the base and head with rough fingers. He looked down at Tony, questioning without speaking and Tony nodded feverishly, pushing his legs even further apart than before to give Steve better access.

The tip of Steve’s cock breached him and Tony threw back his head as the sensation overwhelmed his senses. He could feel the warmth of Steve’s shaft, the slick slide as Steve slowly filled him up; he forced himself to remain silent, feeling utterly full once more after feeling so empty for so long. Steve began to thrust in short aborted movements, Tony’s body open to him more so than it had been before. Tony was completely relaxed despite his position on the hard table; he let his ankles bump against Steve’s shoulders with each thrust, eyes half lidded, desperately drawing in breath to cover his moans. He struggled to keep his eyes open. He wanted to see Steve like this – enjoying himself. He’d missed out the first time and he was damned if he was going to miss it again; this might be the last time they’d be doing this, he hoped not but it might be regardless of his wishes. Steve increased speed, thrusting harder and harder. Tony winced as his back slid with a squeak against the table and Steve stopped, leaving him still, silent and full.

“Tony?”

Tony let out a shaky breath, still not moving, trying to keep from protesting aloud about the halted movements.

“Tony.” Steve said sharply. Tony lifted his head, looking Steve in the eye, utterly wrung out. Steve kissed him and then tasted the blood on his lips, pulling back in surprise.

“Oh my god – are you alright?” Steve gasped, wiping the flat of his thumb across Tony’s lower lip. Tony sucked on his thumb, planting a kiss on it after. Steve slipped his finger out from between Tony’s lips, cupping Tony’s jaw to better look into his eyes.

“I’m fine. Just bit my lip a little too hard. It’s hard to not make noise when you’re being pounded by you, you know.” Tony grinned coyly.

Steve leaned forwards, cock half slipping out of Tony; Tony groaned at the loss in sensation and tried to push Steve back in.

“Hey, don’t stop.”

“Tony…”

“Sorry… I wasn’t supposed to speak, was I? I’ll shut up– “

“No. I want to hear you now.” Steve said, smiling.

Steve pulled out gently, adjusting their positions. He lifted Tony up, holding him just above his hip, leaving Tony’s ass to press only slightly against the cold tabletop.

“Wrap your legs around me.” Steve said huskily. Tony nodded, following his instructions. Steve lined himself back up with Tony’s hole and pushed in slowly, letting out a shaky gasp as Tony surrounded him once more.

“God Tony… You feel so good.” He groaned.

Tony kissed his shoulder gently, burying his head against Steve’s shoulder; he wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck, holding on tightly. He wasn’t afraid that Steve would drop him – he was afraid that Steve would push him away again.

“So do you. Fuck me already Rogers or I’m going to come all over you – well… let’s be fair, that’s going to happen anyways, but - “

Steve began a slower rhythm this time; Tony pushed down as Steve slid in and together they worked until Steve was moaning Tony’s name in his ear, coming inside him, Steve’s fingers digging in to Tony’s hips. Tony followed shortly after, rubbing to completion against Steve’s stomach. He hadn’t needed to be touched. All he had needed was the warm feeling of Steve’s skin pressed up against his; he wanted that moment to last forever, and basked in the glow of Steve being utterly satisfied. They remained entwined together, Tony’s ass pressed against the sharp edge of the table with Steve’s arms wrapped tightly around him, holding him in place. Steve kissed Tony’s neck, nuzzling against his ear.

“I’m so sorry.” Steve whispered, squeezing Tony tightly. He pulled out and fiddled blindly with the condom, tying it without looking, eyes still on Tony’s face. He threw the used condom into the waste paper basket a few feet away and then wiped at the cum on Tony’s stomach with his shirt, which had fallen onto the desk beside them, cleaning Tony up; Steve dropped the shirt and stroked the side of Tony’s face again.

“For what?” Tony asked, surprised. He shifted in his position, rubbing his hands down Steve’s strong back and leaned up to press his forehead against Steve’s, kissing him lightly on the lips.

“I’m sorry that I panicked before. I thought that I’d corrupted you – turned you…” Steve said softly.

“You were worried that you’d turned me gay?” Tony laughed, kissing Steve again, lips kiss bitten and swollen. He ran his hands up Steve’s back and settled them against the back of Steve’s neck, stroking the short hairs there.

“Steve, I hate to break it to you, but you didn’t make fall in love with you. I came to that conclusion all on my own.”

Steve’s eyes widened.

“Tony…”

Tony sighed, burying his face in Steve’s neck, not wanting to meet his eyes. He’d fucked it up again -

“I know, I know. I’m being stupid again and making things uncomfortable – “

“You’re not. Really. I…”

Steve lifted him up and settled Tony against his hips. He carried him over to the couch, sitting down with Tony straddling his lap. He ran his fingers down the side of Tony’s face, stroking his beard and then rested his forehead against Tony’s cheek, speaking into his chest, his body hunched over.

“I got scared and I’m the one who was stupid. I… I wasn’t thinking and I kicked you out and it wasn’t fair to you – it wasn’t wrong and it wasn’t fair – “

“Steve – “

“No – let me finish,” Steve said, kissing Tony’s neck. “I was afraid that I’d corrupted you and ruined both our lives because I was in love with you and… God, Tony, I wanted to touch you so badly the day in the workshop after I hurt you by accident but when I… when I said all those hurtful things about how I didn’t want you to look at me anymore... I was stupid – I thought that if I just told you I didn’t want you to come after me that the feelings would just go away…”

Steve let out a sigh, stroking Tony’s hip absentmindedly.

“I was wrong. Nothing went away – the moment I talked to you I kind of realized that it was real and I panicked again. I thought you’d hate me for it and when you didn’t look me in the eye after I thought for sure that I’d ruined it already before I’d even started and – Oh Tony, I just… I missed you so much when I was gone and then you were so damned accommodating when I came back and you just left me alone to think it all out and I thought that maybe you’d given up.” Steve rambled.

“I’d never give up on you Steve. I was worried that you’d be the one to give up on me.” Tony whispered into Steve’s ear. Steve’s eyes were wet. He wiped them with one hand and smiled at Tony, the expression radiant.

“And then I talked to Natasha about all of this and… well… she told me that you knew what you wanted and that you’d tell me if you didn’t like something and I… well I made that awful cake to see if it was true and it was and… and you ate it and told me it was bad and…”

“Steve. You’re rambling sweetheart.”

“You told me what you thought about the cake. You told me it was awful and that’s what I needed – I needed to know that you would tell me if it was bad and you hated it and… I really wanted you back.”

“You didn’t lose me you know…” Tony said softly, smiling.

“I know, and I do want to have a relationship with you – if you’ll still have me. I wanted to say yes to you before so badly – but I just… All those years with Bucky and the others telling me it was wrong. All those little comments and looks they gave me. I just felt like some kind of monster and it wasn’t fair to you. I should have wrapped my arms around you the first night and held you like I wanted, but when I looked in the mirror in the bathroom after all I could see was that old me from back then who was… flawed and weak. I didn’t want you to see that – and then…”

Steve leaned sideways, pulling Tony on top of him so that he could lie more comfortably between Steve’s legs with his head resting under Steve’s chin.

“And then I saw you the next morning when I was going to tell you good bye and… You were just lying there and I could see all the bruises on your neck and the tears in your eyes and I… I guess I just listened to the voices in my head telling me I was a monster and I ran for the first time.”

Tony curled closer against Steve, eyes half closing as Steve began to stroke his lower back, his body blazing hot in the cold of the workshop.

“And then of course I got all those text messages from you and I didn’t know how to deal with that – I’ve never met someone so damn stubborn and tactless.”

“Gee. Thanks honey.”

“Oh hush you.” Steve kissed Tony atop the head, sighing.

“I got scared again when you said you wanted a relationship. I could just hear Bucky’s voice whispering in my ear – fag – you’re a fag Steve – you’re a fuck up and a fag and I… I’ll admit that I’m not as brave as you. I ran when I should have stayed and I… Tony, I was so scared for you. I was afraid that I’d ruined your life.”

“And yet you came back.” Tony whispered, intertwining their fingers. Steve smiled again at that.

“And then I came back. I couldn’t leave you behind – I just had to make sure you were alright. I nearly had a heart attack when you didn’t respond to that text and I… I may have screamed in Clint’s ear over the phone a half dozen times when I found out you were in the emergency room. I thought you’d done something awful – something that you couldn’t take back. I thought you might be gone.” Steve said, voice cracking.

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just angry and I took out my frustrations on the damned Iron Dog. I wasn’t thinking straight.” Tony admitted quietly.

“We were both stupid then.”

“Yeah, I guess we were.”

Steve fell silent, composing his thoughts again. He continued to stroke Tony, fingers trailing down to the curve of his ass, squeezing gingerly. Tony groaned and bit him on the shoulder in retaliation, laughing. Steve joined in, the tension leaving his body.

“And then, you go and tell me that you think about that night all the time and I just… I … I didn’t know how to admit that I did – do, too. Constantly.” Steve grumbled, ruffling Tony’s hair.

“I guessed as much when you were fucking me into that table. You seemed like a man with a plan.”

“Yes, well. I just… I wanted to be sure that you wanted me – that I wasn’t just taking advantage of you in a vulnerable state…”

“That’s funny – I thought that it was the other way around. Me taking advantage of you.” Tony laughed.

“Yes well… That’s just what I was hearing in my head. Whispers of things I’d rather not hear again. Things I’ll never listen to again now that I have you.”

Steve looked down at Tony, lifting his chin so that he could look into his eyes.

“I do have you, right? You’re not going to just vanish and become part of a dream, right? The daydream of a hopeless idiot?”

Tony kissed him, cupping Steve’s face in his hands. He could feel their hearts beating in unison beneath him, his arc reactor pressed against the smooth muscles of Steve’s chest.

“Nope. You’re not dreaming. I’m yours – I have to warn you though, I’m not the best person. I’m cranky, and I irritate people and – “

“And you’re stubborn and a pain in the ass. And I love you anyways.” Steve chuckled, kissing Tony back. They lay together, half drifting to sleep, before Tony realized that they had missed one important topic.

“Steve?”

“Yes Tony?”

“Are we telling people about this? Or is this just a you-and-me thing?” Tony asked carefully. Steve paled a little and Tony kissed him again, pushing the terror away. Steve hadn’t thought about it clearly, and Tony needed to know this – needed to know what he could say to the others. He wanted Steve to feel comfortable about it; he knew that he did, but it wasn’t up to him to just holler to everyone before Steve was ready. Natasha would beat him to death if he did anyways, and he really didn’t have any intention of being beaten to death while he had a nice, warm, beautiful Steve.

“Because I’m fine with this just being between us for now – until you’re ready that is. I’ll be screaming it off the rooftops when you’re ready, but I’ll keep my mouth shut if that’s what you need right now.” Tony said.

Steve smiled into the next kiss. He closed his eyes, resting his cheek against Tony’s head; his arms wrapped around Tony, hugging him closer.

“I think… I think I’d feel better if we just keep it between us for now. I want to get used to it first… I don’t mean to be unkind but I’m… I’m just not ready yet – I’m still a little scared of what people will say. I know you’ll just say, fuck it, to how other people feel, but I… I’m just…”

“I’ll wait with you Steve. Don’t worry. I’ll wait. You’re worth the wait.” Tony said, smiling into Steve’s chest.

Tony had never felt so contented before in his entire life. For all his thirty five years, he’d felt like he was missing something important. Laying there with Steve beneath him, warmth in the cold, he felt as if he could do anything. He could see a future with Steve – a future that he’d been dreaming of hidden in between nightmares. He had almost given up hope; Steve had almost given up hope too. And yet they were here, together at last, safe and sound from their nervous compulsions and self-hatred. He was right – Steve was worth the wait. Steve would always be worth the wait; even if he had had to wait a hundred years, he would have waited for him. Steve was the light in the darkness of his life. They could do this – things would be alright now.

Jarvis dimmed the lights, locking the workshop and left them in privacy. Tony smiled as Dummy wheeled tentatively closer and roughly covered them with a blanket; the robot’s aim was a little off and he ended up getting the blanket over top of Tony’s head, but the robot had meant well so Tony didn’t chide him for it.

Steve smiled, patting Dummy on the head as he wheeled away; for the first time since Steve had been in the workshop, Dummy cooed at him, rubbing against Steve’s hand, showing affection. Steve seemed pleased by this and Tony could feel his smile against his head and laughed aloud. It really was all about the little things in life.

“Ok buddy – leave us alone now. Thank you for the blanket, but I want to go to sleep and I don’t need you staring at us like a creeper.” Tony grumbled from under the blanket. Steve pushed the blanket down off his head and smiled harder; Tony would never be able to get enough of that smile. He definitely owed Dummy some new toys – and maybe an upgrade for helping put that smile on Steve’s face. Dummy wheeled away back across the room to his charging station and fell silent. Everything was in its place, and despite the long and somewhat disheartening journey, Tony had Steve. Tony had Steve!

Steve loved Tony! Tony played the words over and over in his head, snuggling closer to Steve. Steve loved Tony! Tony loved Steve! They drifted off to sleep together, dreaming of the future and the past. Tony buried himself under Steve’s arms as he slept, grinning shamelessly in his sleep. Things would be better now. He was sure of it.

Somewhere up above them, the Crystal of Change disappeared in Clint’s bedroom dresser. They never saw it again, but Tony never forgot about it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Iron Dog illustration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/869539) by [Nyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyo/pseuds/Nyo)




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